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presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
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by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LII3RARY 


_      Mr.   &  Mrs. 

donor 


bp  Carlctan 


AN     APPROACH    TO    WALT    WHITMAN.     With 
frontispiece. 

THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION. 
THE   ENJOYMENT  OF  ART. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 


THE  GATE 
OF  APPRECIATION 

Studies  in  the  Relation  of 
Art  to  Life 

BY 
CARLETON   NOYES 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

(£&e  ttfretfifte  pre^p  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT  1907  BY  CARLETON  NOYES 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  Apri 


THIRD   IMPRESSION 


To 
MY  FATHER 

AND  THE  MEMORY  OF 

MY  MOTHER 


"  Only  themselves  understand  themselves  and  the  like 

of  themselves, 
As  souls  only  understand  souls." 


PREFACE 

IN  the  daily  life  of  the  ordinary  man,  a  life 
crowded  with  diverse  interests  and  increas- 
ingly complex  demands,  some  few  moments 
of  a  busy  week  or  month  or  year  are  accorded 
to  an  interest  in  art.  Whatever  may  be  his 
vocation,  the  man  feels  instinctively  that  in 
his  total  scheme  of  life  books,  pictures,  music 
have  somewhere  a  place.  In  his  own  business 
or  profession  he  is  an  expert,  a  man  of  special 
training ;  and  intelligently  he  does  not  aspire 
to  a  complete  understanding  of  a  subject 
which  lies  beyond  his  province.  In  the  same 
spirit  in  which  he  is  a  master  of  his  own  craft, 
he  is  content  to  leave  expert  knowledge  of 
art  to  the  expert,  to  the  artist  and  to  the  con- 
noisseur. For  his  part  as  a  layman  he  remains 
frankly  and  happily  on  the  outside.  But  he 
feels  none  the  less  that  art  has  an  interest  and 
a  meaning  even  for  him.  Though  he  does 
not  practice  any  art  himself,  he  knows  that 

ix 


PREFACE 

he  enjoys  fine  things,  a  beautiful  room,  noble 
buildings,  books  and  plays,  statues,  pictures, 
music ;  and  he  believes  that  in  his  own  fash- 
ion he  is  able  to  appreciate  art.  I  venture  to 
think  that  he  is  right. 

There  is  a  case  for  the  outsider  in  reference 
to  art.  And  I  have  tried  here  to  state  it.  This 
book  is  an  attempt  to  suggest  the  possible 
meaning  of  art  to  the  ordinary  man,  to  indi- 
cate methods  of  approach  to  art,  and  to  trace 
the  way  of  appreciation.  It  is  essentially  a 
personal  record,  an  account  of  my  own  ad- 
ventures with  the  problem.  The  book  does 
not  pretend  to  finality ;  the  results  are  true 
for  me  as  far  as  I  have  gone.  They  may  or  may 
not  be  true  for  another.  If  they  become  true 
for  another  man,  he  is  the  one  for  whom  the 
book  was  written.  I  do  not  apologize  because 
the  shelter  here  put  together,  in  which  I  have 
found  a  certain  comfort,  is  not  a  palace. 
Rude  as  the  structure  may  be,  any  man  is  wel- 
comed to  it  who  may  find  solace  there  in  an 

hour  of  need. 

C.  N. 

CAMBRIDGE,  November  second,  igo6. 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION  i 

II.  THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE  23 

v  III.  TECHNIQUE  AND  THE  LAYMAN  44 

IV.  THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM  87 

V.  THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART  105 

v   VI.  THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM  137 

VII.  BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE  165 

VIII.  THE  ARTS  OF  FORM  201 

IX.  REPRESENTATION  221 

X.  THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE  254 


THE   GATE  OF   APPRECIATION 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

TOWARD  evening  a  traveler  through  a 
wild  country  finds  himself  still  in  the 
open,  with  no  hope  of  reaching  a  village 
that  night.  The  wind  is  growing  chill ; 
clouds  are  gathering  in  the  west,  threaten- 
ing rain.  There  rises  in  him  a  feeling  of 
the  need  of  shelter  ;  and  he  looks  about  him 
to  see  what  material  is  ready  to  his  hand. 
Scattered  stones  will  serve  for  supports  and 
low  walls ;  there  are  fallen  branches  for  the 
roof;  twigs  and  leaves  can  be  woven  into 
a  thatch.  Already  the  general  design  has 
shaped  itself  in  his  mind.  He  sets  to  work, 
modifying  the  details  of  his  plan  to  suit 
the  resources  of  his  material.  At  last,  after 
hours  of  hard  thought  and  eager  toil,  spurred 
on  by  his  sense  of  his  great  need,  the  hut  is 

i 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ready ;  and  he  takes  refuge  in  it  as  the  storm 
breaks. 

The  entire  significance  of  the  man's  work 
is  shelter.  The  beginning  of  it  lay  in  his 
need  of  shelter.  The  impulse  to  action  rose 
out  of  his  consciousness  of  his  need.  His  im- 
agination conceived  the  plan  whereby  the 
need  might  be  met,  and  the  plan  gave  shape 
to  his  material.  The  actual  result  of  his  labor 
was  a  hut,  but  the  hut  itself  was  not  the 
end  for  which  he  strove.  The  hut  was  but 
the  means.  The  all-inclusive  import  of  his 
work  —  the  stimulus  which  impelled  him 
to  act,  the  purpose  for  which  he  toiled,  and 
the  end  which  he  accomplished  —  is  shelter. 

A  man  of  special  sensitiveness  to  the  ap- 
peal of  color  and  form  finds  himself  also  in 
the  open.  He  is  weary  with  the  way,  which 
shows  but  broken  glimpses  of  the  road.  His 
spirit,  heavy  with  the  "  burden  of  the  mys- 
tery," is  torn  by  conflict  and  confusion.  As 
he  looks  across  the  stony  places  to  the 
gnarled  and  weather-tortured  trees  beyond, 
and  up  to  the  clouds  piling  black  above  him, 
there  is  revealed  to  him  a  sudden  harmony 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

among  the  discords  ;  an  inner  principle,  ap- 
prehended by  his  imagination,  compels  the 
fragments  of  the  seeming  chaos  into  a  reg- 
nant order.  These  natural  forms  become  for 
him  the  expression  external  to  himself  of 
the  struggle  of  his  own  spirit  and  its  final  re- 
solution. The  desire  rises  in  him  to  express 
by  his  own  act  the  order  he  has  newly  per- 
ceived, the  harmony  of  his  spirit  with  the 
spirit  of  nature.  As  life  comes  to  him  domi- 
nantly  in  terms  of  color  and  form,  it  is  with 
color  and  form  that  he  works  to  expression 
so  as  to  satisfy  his  need.  The  design  is  already 
projected  in  his  imagination,  and  to  real- 
ize concretely  his  ideal  he  draws  upon  the 
material  of  nature  about  him.  The  picture 
which  he  paints  is  not  the  purpose  of  his  effort. 
The  picture  is  but  the  means.  His  end  is  to 
express  the  great  new  harmony  in  which  his 
spirit  finds  shelter. 

Both  men,  the  traveler  and  the  painter, 
are  wayfarers.  Both  are  seeking  shelter  from 
stress  and  storm,  and  both  construct  their 
means.  In  one  case  the  product  is  more 
obviously  and  immediately  practical,  and 

3 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

the  informing  purpose  tends  to  become  ob- 
scured in  the  actual  serviceableness  of  the 
result.  The  hut  answers  a  need  that  is  pri- 
marily physical ;  the  need  in  the  other  case 
is  spiritual.  But  it  is  a  matter  of  degree. 
In  essence  and  import  the  achievement  of 
the  two  men  is  the  same.  The  originating 
impulse,  a  sense  of  need  ;  the  processes  in- 
volved, the  combination  of  material  elements 
to  a  definite  end ;  the  result  attained,  shel- 
ter which  answers  the  need, — they  are  iden- 
tical. Both  men  are  artists.  Both  hut  and 
picture  are  works  of  art. 

So  art  is  not  remote  from  common  life 
after  all.  In  its  highest  manifestations  art  is 
life  at  its  best ;  painting,  sculpture,  poetry, 
music  are  the  distillment  and  refinement  of 
experience.  Architecture  and  the  subsidiary 
arts  of .  decoration  adorn  necessity  and  add 
delight  to  use.  But  whatever  the  flower  and 
final  fruit,  art  strikes  its  roots  deep  down 
into  human  need,  and  draws  its  impulse 
and  its  sustenance  from  the  very  sources 
of  life  itself.  In  the  wide  range  from  the 
hut  in  the  wilderness  to  a  Gothic  cathedral, 

4 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

from  the  rude  scratches  recorded  on  the  cave 
walls  of  prehistoric  man  to  the  sublimities 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  there  is  no  break  in 
the  continuity  of  effort  and  aspiration.  Poten- 
tially every  man  is  an  artist.  Between  the  art- 
ist, so-called,  and  the  ordinary  man  there  is 
no  gulf  fixed  which  cannot  be  passed.  Such 
are  the  terms  of  our  mechanical  civilization 
to-day  that  art  has  become  specialized  and 
the  practice  of  it  is  limited  to  a  few;  in 
consequence  artists  have  become  a  kind  of 
class.  But  essentially  the  possibilities  of  art 
lie  within  the  scope  of  any  man,  given  the 
right  conditions.  So  too  the  separation  of 
the  "useful  arts"  from  the  "fine  arts"  is  un- 
just to  art  and  perversive  of  right  apprecia- 
tion. Whatever  the  form  in  which  it  may 
manifest  itself,  from  the  lowest  to  the  high- 
est, the  art  spirit  is  one,  and  it  may  quicken 
in  any  man  who  sets  mind  and  heart  to  the 
work  of  his  hand.  That  man  is  an  artist 
who  fashions  a  new  thing  that  he  may  ex- 
press himself  in  response  to  his  need. 

Art  is  creation.   It  is  the  combination  of 
already  existing  material  elements  into  new 

5 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

forms  which  become  thus  the  realization  of 
a  preconceived  idea.  Both  hut  and  picture 
rose  in  the  imagination  of  their  makers  be- 
fore they  took  shape  as  things.  The  mate- 
rial of  each  was  given  already  in  nature  ;  but 
the  form,  as  the  maker  fashioned  it,  was 
new.  Commonly  we  think  of  art  as  the 
expression  and  communication  of  emotion. 
A  picture,  a  statue,  a  symphony  we  recog- 
nize as  the  symbol  of  what  the  artist  has  felt 
in  some  passage  of  his  experience  and  the 
means  by  which  he  conveys  his  feeling  to 
us.  Art  is  the  expression  of  emotion,  but  all 
art  springs  out  of  need.  The  sense  of  need 
which  impels  expression  through  the  me- 
dium of  creation  is  itself  an  emotion.  The 
hut  which  the  traveler  built  for  himself  in 
the  wilderness  —  shaping  it  according  to 
the  design  which  his  imagination  suggested, 
having  reference  to  his  need  and  to  the 
character  of  his  materials  —  was  a  work  of 
creation ;  the  need  which  prompted  it  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  as  emotion.  The  picture 
which  the  other  wayfarer  painted  of  the 
storm-swept  landscape,  a  harmony  which 

6 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

his  imagination  compelled  out  of  discords, 
was  a  work  of  creation ;  the  emotion  which 
inspired  the  work  was  attended  by  need,  the 
need  of  expression.  The  material  and  practi- 
cal utility  of  the  hut  obscures  the  emotional 
character  of  its  origin;  the  emotional  im- 
port of  the  picture  outweighs  consideration 
of  its  utility  to  the  painter  as  the  means  by 
which  his  need  of  expression  is  satisfied.  The 
satisfaction  of  physical  needs  which  results 
in  the  creation  of  utilities  and  the  satisfac- 
tion of  spiritual  needs  which  results  in  the 
forms  of  expression  we  commonly  call  works 
of  art  differ  one  from  the  other  in  their  ef- 
fect on  the  total  man  only  in  degree.  All 
works  of  use  whose  conception  and  making 
have  required  an  act  of  creation  are  art ;  all 
art  —  even  in  its  supreme  manifestations  — 
embraces  elements  of  use.  The  measure  in 
which  a  work  is  art  is  established  by  the  in- 
tensity and  scope  of  its  maker's  emotion  and 
by  his  power  to  body  forth  his  feeling  in 
harmonious  forms  which  in  turn  recreate  the 
emotion  in  the  spirit  of  those  whom  his  work 
reaches. 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

In  its  essence  and  widest  compass  art  is  the 
making  of  a  new  thing  in  response  to  a  sense 
of  need.  The  very  need  itself  creates,  work- 
ing through  man  as  its  agent.  This  truth  is 
illustrated  vividly  by  the  miracles  of  modern 
invention.  The  hand  of  man  unaided  was 
not  able  to  cope  with  his  expanding  oppor- 
tunities ;  the  giant  steam  and  the  magician 
electricity  came  at  his  call  to  work  their  won- 
ders. The  plow  and  scythe  of  the  New  Eng- 
land colonist  on  his  little  farm  were  meta- 
morphosed into  the  colossal  steam-driven 
shapes,  in  which  machinery  seems  trans- 
muted into  intelligence,  as  he  moved  to  the 
conquest  of  the  acres  of  the  West  which  sum- 
moned him  to  dominion.  First  the  need  was 
felt;  the  contrivance  was  created  in  response. 
A  man  of  business  sees  before  him  in  imagi- 
nation the  end  to  be  reached,  and  applying 
his  ideal  to  practical  conditions,  he  makes 
every  detail  converge  to  the  result  desired. 
All  rebellious  circumstances,  all  forces  that 
pull  the  other  way,  he  bends  to  his  compell- 
ing will,  and  by  the  shaping  power  of  his 
genius  he  accomplishes  his  aim.  His  busi- 

8 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

ness  is  his  medium  of  self-expression ;  his 
success  is  the  realization  of  his  ideal.  A 
painter  does  no  more  than  this,  though  he 
works  with  a  different  material.  The  land- 
scape which  is  realized  ultimately  upon  his 
canvas  is  the  landscape  seen  in  his  imagina- 
tion. He  draws  his  colors  and  forms  from 
nature  around;  but  he  selects  his  details, 
adapting  them  to  his  end.  All  accidents 
and  incidents  are  purged  away.  Out  of  the 
apparent  confusion  of  life  rises  the  evident 
order  of  art.  And  in  the  completed  work 
the  artist's  idea  stands  forth  salient  and  vic- 
torious. 

That  consciousness  of  need  which  com- 
pels creation  is  the  origin  of  art.  The 
owner  of  a  dwelling  who  first  felt  the  need 
of  securing  his  door  so  that  he  alone  might 
possess  the  secret  and  trick  of  access  de- 
vised a  lock  and  key,  rude  enough,  as  we  can 
fancy.  As  the  maker  of  the  first  lock  and 
key  he  was  an  artist.  All  those  who  fol- 
lowed where  he  had  led,  repeating  his  device 
without  modification,  were  but  artisans.  In 
the  measure  that  any  man  changed  the  de- 

9 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

sign,  however,  adapting  it  more  closely  to 
his  peculiar  needs  and  so  making  it  anew, 
to  that  extent  he  was  an  artist  also.  The 
man  who  does  a  thing  for  the  first  time  it 
is  done  is  an  artist ;  a  man  who  does  a  thing 
better  is  an  artist.  The  painter  who  copies 
his  object  imitatively,  finding  nothing, creat- 
ing nothing,  is  an  artisan,  however  skillful 
he  may  be.  He  is  an  artist  in  the  degree  in 
which  he  brings  to  his  subject  something  of 
his  own,  and  fashioning  it,  however  crudely, 
to  express  the  idea  he  has  conceived  of  the 
object,  so  creates. 

The  difference  between  work  which  is 
art  and  work  which  is  not  art  is  just  this 
element  of  the  originating  impulse  and  crea- 
tive act.  The  difference,  though  often  seem- 
ingly slight  and  not  always  immediately  per- 
ceived, is  all-important.  It  distinguishes  the 
artist  from  the  artisan ;  a  free  spirit  from  a 
slave ;  a  thinking,  feeling  man  from  a  soul- 
less machine.  It  makes  the  difference  be- 
tween life  rich  and  significant,  and  mere 
existence;  between  the  mastery  of  fate  and 
the  passive  acceptance  of  things  as  they  are. 

10 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

If  a  mind  and  heart  are  behind  it  to  control 
and  guide  it  to  expression,  even  the  ma- 
chine may  be  an  instrument  in  the  making 
of  a  work  of  art.  It  is  not  the  work  itself, 
but  the  motive  which  prompted  the  making 
of  it,  that  determines  its  character  as  art.  Art 
is  not  the  way  a  thing  is  done,  but  the  reason 
why  it  is  done.  A  chair,  though  turned  on 
a  lathe,  may  be  a  work  of  art,  if  the  maker 
has  truly  expressed  himself  in  his  work.  A 
picture,  though  "  hand-painted,"  may  be 
wholly  mechanical  in  spirit.  To  set  about 
"  making  a  picture  "is  to  begin  at  the 
wrong  end.  The  impulse  to  art  flows  from 
within  outwards.  Art  is  bound  up  with  life 
itself;  like  nature,  it  is  organic  and  must 
grow.  The  form  cannot  be  laid  on  from 
the  outside ;  it  is  born  and  must  develop  in 
response  to  vital  need.  In  so  far  as  our  acts 
are  consciously  the  expression  of  ourselves 
they  are  prompted  by  the  art  spirit. 

All  our  acts  are  reducible  to  one  of  two 
kinds :  either  they  are  acts  of  creation,  effect- 
ing a  new  result,  or  they  are  acts  of  repe- 
tition. Acts  of  repetition  tend  rapidly  to 

ii 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

become  habits  ;  and  they  may  be  performed 
without  attention  or  positive  volition.  Thus, 
as  I  am  dressing  in  the  morning  I  may  be 
planning  the  work  for  the  day;  while  my 
mind  is  given  over  to  thought,  I  lose  the  sense 
of  my  material  surroundings,  my  muscles 
work  automatically,  the  motor-currents  flow- 
ing through  the  well-worn  grooves,  and  by 
force  of  habit  the  acts  execute  themselves. 
Obviously,  acts  of  repetition,  or  habits,  make 
up  the  larger  part  of  our  daily  lives. 

Acts  of  creation,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
performed  by  an  effort  of  the  will  in  response 
to  the  consciousness  of  a  need.  To  meet  the 
new  need  we  are  obliged  to  make  new  com- 
binations. I  assume  that  the  traveler  con- 
structed his  hut  for  the  first  time,  shaping  it 
to  the  special  new  conditions;  that  the  har- 
mony which  the  painter  discerned  in  the 
tumult  around  him  he  experienced  for  the 
first  time,  and  the  picture  which  he  paints, 
shaped  with  reference  to  his  need  and  fulfill- 
ing it,  is  a  new  thing.  In  the  work  produced 
by  this  act  of  creation,  the  feeling  which  has 
prompted  it  finds  expression.  In  the  mak- 

12 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

ing  of  the  hut,  in  the  painting  of  the  picture, 
the  impelling  need  is  satisfied. 

Although  acts  of  repetition  constitute  the 
bulk  of  life,  creation  is  of  its  very  essence  and 
determines  its  quality.  The  significance  and 
joy  of  life  are  less  in  being  than  in  becoming. 
Growth  is  expression,  and  in  turn  expression 
is  made  possible  by  growth.  In  our  conscious 
experience  the  sense  of  becoming  is  one  of 
our  supreme  satisfactions.  Growth  is  the  pur- 
pose and  the  recompense  of  our  being  here, 
the  end  for  which  we  strive  and  the  reward 
of  all  the  effort  and  the  struggle.  In  the  ex- 
e.rcise  of  brain  or  hand,  to  feel  the  work  take 
form,  develop,  and  become  something, — 
that  is  happiness.  And  the  joy  is  in  the  creat- 
ing rather  than  in  the  thing  created ;  the  com- 
pleted work  is  behind  us,  and  we  moveforward 
to  new  creation.  A  painter's  best  picture  is 
the  blank  canvas  before  him ;  an  author's 
greatest  book  is  the  one  he  is  just  setting  him- 
self to  write.  The  desire  for  change  for  the 
sake  of  change  which  we  all  feel  at  times,  a 
vague  restlessness  of  mind  and  body,  is  only 
the  impulse  to  growth  which  has  not  found 

13 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

its  direction.  Outside  of  us  we  love  to  see  the 
manifestation  of  growth.  We  tend  and  cher- 
ish the  little  plant  in  the  window  ;  we  watch 
with  delight  the  unfolding  of  each  new  leaf 
and  the  upward  reach  into  blossom.  The 
spring,  bursting  triumphant  from  the  silent, 
winter-stricken  earth,  is  nature's  parable  of 
expression,  her  symbol  perennially  renewed 
of  the  joy  of  growth. 

The  impulse  to  expression  is  cosmic  and 
eternal.  But  even  in  the  homeliness  and  fa- 
miliarity of  our  life  from  day  to  day  the  need 
of  expression  is  there,  whether  we  are  en- 
tirely aware  of  it  or  not ;  and  we  are  seeking 
the  realization  and  fulfillment  of  ourselves 
through  the  utterance  of  what  we  are.  A 
few  find  their  expression  in  forms  which 
with  distinct  limitation  of  the  term  we  call 
works  of  art.  Most  men  find  it  in  their  daily 
occupations,  their  profession  or  their  busi- 
ness. The  president  of  one  of  the  great  West- 
ern railroads  remarked  once  in  conversa- 
tion that  he  would  rather  build  a  thousand 
miles  of  railroad  than  live  in  the  most  sump- 
tuous palace  on  Fifth  Avenue.  Railroad- 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

building  was  his  medium  of  expression ;  it 
was  his  art.  Some  express  themselves  in 
shaping  their  material  environment,  in  the 
decoration  and  ordering  of  their  houses.  A 
young  woman  said,  "  My  ambition  is  to  keep 
my  house  well."  Again,  for  her,  housekeep- 
ing is  her  art.  Some  find  the  realization  of 
themselves  in  the  friends  they  draw  around 
them.  Love  is  but  the  utterance  of  what 
we  essentially  are  ;  and  the  response  to  it  in 
the  loved  one  makes  the  utterance  articulate 
and  complete.  Expression  rises  out  of  our 
deepest  need,  and  the  need  impels  expres- 
sion. 

The  assertion  that  art  is  thus  involved 
with  need  seems  for  the  moment  to  run 
counter  to  the  usual  conception,  which  re- 
gards art  as  a  product  of  leisure,  a  luxury, 
and  the  result  not  of  labor  but  of  play.  Art 
in  its  higher  forms  becomes  more  and  more 
purely  the  expression  of  emotion,  the  un- 
trammeled  record  of  the  artist's  spiritual  ex- 
perience. It  is  only  when  physical  necessities 
have  been  met  or  ignored  that  the  spirit  of 
man  has  free  range.  But  the  maker  who 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

adds  decoration  to  his  bowl  after  he  has 
moulded  it  is  just  as  truly  fulfilling  a  need 
—  the  need  of  self-expression  —  as  he  ful- 
filled a  need  when  he  fashioned  the  bowl  in 
the  first  instance  in  order  that  he  might  slake 
his  thirst.  Art  is  not  superadded  to  life,  — 
something  different  in  kind.  All  through  its 
ascent  from  its  rudimentary  forms  to  its  high- 
est, from  hut  to  cathedral,  art  is  coordinate 
with  the  development  of  life,  continuous  and 
without  breach  or  sudden  end  ;  it  is  the  ex- 
pression step  by  step  of  ever  fuller  and  ever 
deeper  experience. 

Creation,  therefore,  follows  upon  the 
consciousness  of  need,  whether  the  need  be 
physical,  as  with  the  traveler,  or  spiritual,  as 
with  the  painter;  from  physical  to  spiritual 
we  pass  by  a  series  of  gradations.  At  their 
extremes  they  are  easy  to  distinguish,  one 
from  the  other ;  but  along  the  way  there  is 
no  break  in  the  continuity.  The  current 
formula  for  art,  that  art  is  the  utterance  of 
man's  joy  in  his  work,  is  not  quite  accurate. 
In  the  act  of  creation  the  maker  finds  the 
expression  of  himself.  The  man  who  deco- 

16 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

rates  a  bowl  in  response  to  his  own  creative 
impulse  is  expressing  himself.  The  painter 
who  thrills  to  the  wonder  and  significance 
of  nature  is  impelled  to  expression ;  and  his 
delight  is  not  fully  realized  and  complete 
until  he  has  uttered  it.  Such  art  is  love  ex- 
pressed, and  the  artist's  work  is  his  "  hymn 
of  the  praise  of  things."  But  the  joy  for 
both  the  potter  and  the  painter,  the  joy 
which  is  so  bound  up  with  art  as  to  partake 
of  its  very  essence,  is  the  joy  which  attends 
self-expression  and  the  satisfaction  of  the 
need. 

A  work  of  art  is  a  work  of  creation 
brought  into  being  as  the  expression  of 
emotion.  The  traveler  creates  not  the  wood 
and  stone  but  shelter,  by  means  of  the  hut ; 
the  painter  creates  not  the  landscape  but  the 
beauty  of  it ;  the  musician  creates  not  the 
musical  tones,  but  by  means  of  a  harmony 
of  tones  he  creates  an  emotional  experience. 
The  impulse  to  art  rises  out  of  the  earliest 
springs  of  consciousness  and  vibrates  through 
all  life.  Art  does  not  disdain  to  manifest 
itself  in  the  little  acts  of  expression  of  simple 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

daily  living ;  with  all  its  splendid  past  and 
vital  present  it  is  ever  seeking  new  and 
greater  forms  whose  end  is  not  yet.  I  spoke 
of  the  work  of  the  traveler  through  the 
wilderness  as  art;  the  term  was  applied  also 
to  railroad-building  and  to  housekeeping. 
The  truth  to  be  illustrated  by  these  exam- 
ples is  that  the  primary  impulse  to  artistic 
expression  does  not  differ  in  essence  from  the 
impulse  to  creation  of  any  kind.  The  nature 
of  the  thing  created,  as  art,  depends  upon  the 
emotional  value  of  the  result,  the  degree  in 
which  it  expresses  immediately  the  emotion 
of  its  creator,  and  the  power  it  possesses  to 
rouse  the  emotion  in  others.  To  show  that 
all  art  is  creation  and  that  all  creation  tends 
toward  art  is  not  to  obscure  useful  distinc- 
tions, but  rather  to  restore  art  to  its  rightful 
place  in  the  life  of  man. 

In  the  big  sense,  then,  art  is  bounded  only 
by  life  itself.  It  is  not  a  cult ;  it  is  not  an 
activity  practiced  by  the  few  and  a  mystery 
to  be  understood  only  by  those  who  are  initi- 
ated into  its  secrets.  One  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  the  popular  understanding  of  art  is 

18 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

due  to  the  fact  that  the  term  art  is  currently 
limited  to  its  highest  manifestations ;  we 
withhold  the  title  of  artist  from  a  good  car- 
penter or  cabinet-maker  who  takes  a  pride 
in  his  work  and  expresses  his  creative  desire 
by  shaping  his  work  to  his  own  idea,  and  we 
bestow  the  name  upon  any  juggler  in  paint : 
with  the  result  that  many  people  who  are  not 
painters  or  musicians  feel  themselves  on  that 
account  excluded  from  all  appreciation.  If 
we  go  behind  the  various  manifestations  of 
art  to  discover  just  what  art  is  in  itself  and 
to  determine  wherein  it  is  able  to  link  itself 
with  common  experience,  we  find  that  art 
is  the  response  to  a  need.  And  that  need  may 
waken  in  any  man.  Every  man  may  be  an 
artist  in  his  degree ;  and  every  man  in  his 
degree  can  appreciate  art.  A  work  of  art  is 
the  expression  of  its  maker's  experience,  the 
expression  in  such  terms  that  the  experience 
can  be  communicated  to  another.  The  pro- 
cesses of  execution  involved  in  fashioning  a 
work,  its  technique,  may  be  as  incomprehen- 
sible and  perplexed  and  difficult  as  its  execu- 
tants choose  to  make  them.  Technique  is 

19 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

not  the  same  as  art.  The  only  mystery  of 
art  is  the  mystery  of  all  life  itself.  Accept 
life  with  its  fundamental  mysteries,  with  its 
wonders  and  glories,  and  we  have  the  clue 
to  art.  But  we  miss  the  central  fact  of  the 
whole  matter  if  we  do  not  perceive  that  art 
is  only  a  means.  It  is  by  expression  that  we 
grow  and  so  fulfill  ourselves.  The  work  itself 
which  art  calls  into  being  is  not  the  end.  It 
fails  of  its  purpose,  remaining  void  and  vain, 
if  it  does  not  perform  its  function.  The  hut 
which  does  not  furnish  shelter  is  labor  lost. 
The  significance  of  the  painter's  effort  does 
not  stop  with  the  canvas  and  pigment  which 
he  manipulates  into  form  and  meaning.  The 
artist  sees  beyond  the  actual  material  thing 
which  he  is  fashioning ;  his  purpose  in  crea- 
tion is  expression.  By  means  of  his  picture 
he  expresses  himself  and  so  finds  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  deepest  need.  The  beginning  and 
the  end  of  art  is  life. 

But  the  artist's  work  of  expression  is  not 
ultimately  complete  until  the  message  is  re- 
ceived, and  expression  becomes  communica- 
tion as  his  utterance  calls  out  a  response  in 

20 


THE  IMPULSE  TO  EXPRESSION 

the  spirit  of  a  fellow-man.  Art  exists  not 
only  for  the  artist's  sake  but  for  the  apprecia- 
tor  too.  As  art  has  its  origin  in  emotion  and 
is  the  expression  of  it,  so  for  the  appreciator 
the  individual  work  has  a  meaning  and  is  art 
in  so  far  as  it  becomes  for  him  the  expression 
of  what  he  has  himself  felt  but  could  not 
phrase ;  and  it  is  art  too  in  the  measure  in 
which  it  is  the  revelation  of  larger  possibili- 
ties of  feeling  and  creates  in  him  a  new  emo- 
tional experience.  The  impulse  to  expression 
is  common  to  all;  the  difference  is  one  of 
degree.  And  the  message  of  art  is  for  all, 
according  as  they  are  attuned  to  the  response. 
Art  is  creation.  For  the  artist  it  is  creation  by 
expression ;  for  the  appreciator  it  is  creation 
by  evocation.  These  two  principles  complete 
the  cycle ;  abstractly  and  very  briefly  they 
are  the  whole  story  of  art. 

To  be  responsive  to  the  needs  of  life  and 
its  emotional  appeal  is  the  first  condition 
of  artistic  creation.  By  new  combinations 
of  material  elements  to  bring  emotion  to 
expression  in  concrete  harmonious  forms, 
themselves  charged  with  emotion  and  com- 

21 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

municating  it,  is  to  fashion  a  work  of  art. 
To  feel  in  material,  whether  in  the  forms  of 
nature  or  in  works  of  art,  a  meaning  for  the 
spirit  is  the  condition  of  appreciation. 


II 

THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE 

IT  is  a  gray  afternoon  in  late  November. 
The  day  is  gone ;  evening  is  not  yet  come. 
Though  too  dark  to  read  or  write  longer,  it 
is  not  dark  enough  for  drawn  shades  and  the 
lamp.  As  I  sit  in  the  gathering  dusk,  my  will 
hovering  between  work  done  and  work  to 
do,  I  surrender  to  the  mood  of  the  moment. 
The  day  is  accomplished,  but  it  is  not  yet  a  re- 
membrance, for  it  is  still  too  near  for  me  to 
define  the  details  that  made  up  its  hours.  Con- 
sciousness, not  sharp  enough  for  thought, 
floats  away  into  diffused  and  obscure  emotion. 
The  sense  is  upon  me  and  around  me  that  I 
am  vaguely,  unreasoningly,  yet  pleasantly, 
unhappy.  Out  of  the  dimness  a  trick  of 
memory  recalls  to  me  the  lines,  — 

"  Tears  !  tears  !  tears ! 
In  the  night,  in  solitude,  tears, 
On  the  white  shore  dripping,  dripping,  suck'd  in 
by  the  sand, 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

Tears,  not  a  star  shining,  all  dark  and  desolate, 

Moist  tears  from  the  eyes  of  a  muffled  head ; 

O  who  is  that  ghost  ?  that  form  in  the  dark,  with 

tears  ? 
What  shapeless  lump  is  that,  bent,  crouch'd  there 

on  the  sand  ? 
Streaming  tears,  sobbing  tears,  throes,  choked 

with  wild  cries ; 
O  storm,  embodied,  rising,  careering  with  swift 

steps  along  the  beach  ! 
O  wild  and  dismal  night  storm,  with  wind  —  O 

belching  and  desperate ! 
O  shade  so  sedate  and  decorous  by  day,  with  calm 

countenance  and  regulated  pace, 
But  away  at  night  as  you  fly,  none  looking  —  O 

then  the  unloosen'd  ocean 
Of  tears  !  tears  !  tears  !  " 

Now  I  know.  My  mood  was  the  mood 
of  tears.  The  poet,  too,  has  felt  what  I  was 
feeling.  And  as  a  poet  he  has  been  able  to 
bring  his  emotion  to  expression.  By  the 
magic  of  phrase  and  the  mystery  of  image  he 
has,  out  of  the  moving  of  his  spirit,  fashioned 
a  concrete  reality.  By  means  of  his  expres- 
sion, because  of  it,  his  emotion  becomes  real- 
ized, and  so  reaches  its  fulfillment.  And  for 
me,  what  before  was  vague  has  been  made 

24 


THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE 

definite.  The  poet's  lines  have  wakened  in  me 
a  response ;  I  have  felt  what  he  has  phrased ; 
and  now  they  become  my  expression  too.  As 
my  mood  takes  form,  I  become  conscious  of 
its  meaning.  I  can  distill  its  significance  for 
the  spirit,  and  in  the  emotion  made  definite 
and  realizable  as  consciousness  I  feel  and  know 
that  I  am  living.  Doubly,  completely,  the 
poem  is  a  work  of  art.  And  my  response  to 
it,  the  absorption  of  it  into  my  own  experi- 
ence, is  appreciation. 

I  appreciate  the  poem  as  I  make  the  ex- 
perience which  the  poet  has  here  phrased  my 
own,  and  at  the  instant  of  reading  I  live  out  in 
myself  what  he  has  lived  and  here  expressed. 
I  read  the  words,  and  intellectually  I  take  in 
their  signification,  but  the  poem  is  not  realized 
in  me  until  it  wakens  in  me  the  feeling  which 
the  words  are  framed  to  convey.  The  images 
which  an  artist  employs  have  the  power  to 
rouse  emotion  in  us,  so  that  they  come  to  stand 
for  the  emotion  itself.  We  care  for  nature 
and  it  is  beautiful  to  us  as  its  forms  become 
objectively  the  intimate  expression  for  us  of 
what  we  feel. 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

"  O  to  realize  space  ! 

The  plenteousness  of  all,  that  there  are  no  bounds, 

To  emerge  and  be  of  the  sky,  of  the  sun  and 

moon  arid  flying  clouds,as  one  with  them." 

In  his  contact  with  the  external  world  the 
artist  identifies  himself  with  his  obj  ect.  If  he 
is  painting  a  tree  he  in  a  measure  becomes  the 
tree;  he  values  it  at  all  because  it  expresses 
for  him  concretely  what  he  feels  in  its  pre- 
sence. The  object  and  his  spirit  fuse;  and 
through  the  fusion  they  together  grow  into 
a  new  and  larger  unity.  What  his  work  ex- 
presses is  not  the  object  for  its  own  sake  but 
this  larger  unity  of  his  identity  with  it.  To 
appreciate  the  artist's  work,  therefore,  we 
must  in  our  turn  merge  ourselves  in  his  emo- 
tion, and  becoming  one  with  it,  so  extend  our 
personality  into  larger  life. 

To  make  the  artist's  emotion  our  own,  to 
identify  ourselves  with  the  object  which  he 
presents  to  us,  we  must  pass  beyond  the  ma- 
terial form  in  which  the  work  is  embodied, 
letting  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  it  speak  to 
our  spirit.  In  itself  an  individual  picture  or 
statue  or  symphony  is  an  objective,  material 

26 


THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE 

thing,  received  into  consciousness  along  the 
channel  of  the  senses ;  but  its  origin  and  its 
end  alike  are  in  emotion.  The  material  form, 
whether  in  nature  or  in  works  of  art,  is  only 
the  means  by  which  the  emotion  is  commu- 
nicated. A  landscape  in  nature  is  composed 
of  meadow  and  hills,  blue  sky  and  tumbling 
clouds ;  these  are  the  facts  of  the  landscape. 
But  they  are  not  fixed  and  inert.  The  imagi- 
nation of  the  beholder  combines  these  ele- 
ments into  a  harmony  of  color  and  mass  ;  his 
spirit  flows  into  consonance  with  the  harmony 
his  imagination  has  compelled  out  of  nature, 
becoming  one  with  it.  To  regard  the  world 
not  as  facts  and  things,  but  as  everywhere  the 
stimulus  of  feeling,  feeling  which  becomes 
our  own  experience,  is  the  condition  of  ap- 
preciation. 

To  the  awakening  mind  of  a  child,  life  is 
full  of  wonder,  and  each  unfolding  day  re- 
veals new  marvels  of  excitement  and  surprise. 
As  yet  untrammeled  by  any  sense  of  the  lim- 
itations of  material,  his  quick  imagination 
peoples  his  world  with  creatures  of  his  fancy, 
which  to  him  are  more  real  than  the  things 

27 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

he  is  able  actually  to  see  and  touch.  For  him 
the  external  world  is  fluid  and  plastic,  to  be 
moulded  into  forms  at  will  in  obedience  to 
his  creative  desire.  In  the  tiny  bundle  of  rags 
which  mother-love  clasps  tight  to  her  heart, 
a  little  girl  sees  only  the  loveliest  of  babies  ; 
and  a  small  boy  with  his  stick  of  lath  and 
newspaper  cap  and  plume  is  a  mightier  than 
Napoleon.  The  cruder  the  toy,  the  greater 
is  the  pleasure  in  the  game ;  for  the  imagina- 
tion delights  in  the  exercise  of  itself.  A  wax 
doll,  sent  from  Paris,  with  flaxen  hair  and 
eyes  that  open  and  shut,  is  laid  away,  when 
the  mere  novelty  of  it  is  exhausted,  in  the  attic 
chest,  and  the  little  girl  is  fondling  again  her 
first  baby  of  rag  and  string.  A  real  steel  sword 
and  tin  helmet  are  soon  cast  aside,  and  the  boy 
is  back  again  among  the  toys  of  his  own  mak- 
ing. That  impulse  to  creation  which  all  men 
feel,  the  impulse  which  makes  the  artist,  is 
especially  active  in  a  child;  his  games  are  his 
art.  With  a  child  material  is  not  an  end  but 
a  means.  Things  are  for  him  but  the  skele- 
ton of  life,  to  be  clothed  upon  by  the  flesh  and 
blood  reality  of  his  own  fashioning.  His  feel- 

28 


THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE 

ing  is  in  excess  of  his  knowledge.  He  has  a 
faculty  of  perception  other  than  the  intel- 
lectual. It  is  imagination. 

The  child  is  the  first  artist.  Out  of  the 
material  around  him  he  creates  a  world  of  his 
own.  The  prototypes  of  the  forms  which  he 
devises  exist  in  life,  but  it  is  the  thing  which 
he  himself  makes  that  interests  him,  not  its 
original  in  nature.  His  play  is  his  expression. 
He  creates;  and  he  is  able  to  merge  himself 
in  the  thing  created.  In  his  play  he  loses  all 
consciousness  of  self.  He  and  the  toy  be- 
come one,  caught  up  in  the  larger  unity  of 
the  game.  According  as  he  identifies  him- 
self with  the  thing  outside  of  him,  the  child 
is  the  first  appreciator. 

Then  comes  a  change. 

"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 

The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  Priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended ; 
29 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

Imagination  surrenders  to  the  intellect;  emo- 
tion gives  place  to  knowledge. 

Gradually  the  material  worldshuts  in  about 
us  until  it  becomes  for  us  a  hard,  inert  thing, 
and  no  longer  a  living,  changing  presence, 
instinct  with  infinite  possibilities  of  experi- 
ence and  feeling.  Now  custom  lies  upon  u? 

"  with  a  weight, 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life ! " 

It  happens,  unfortunately  for  our  enjoyment 
of  life,  that  we  get  used  to  things.  Little  by 
little  we  come  to  accept  them,  to  take  them 
for  granted,  and  they  cease  to  mean  anything 
to  us.  Habit,  which  is  our  most  helpful  ally 
in  lending  our  daily  life  its  practical  efficiency, 
is  the  foe  of  emotion  and  appreciation.  Habit 
allows  us  to  perform  without  conscious  effort 
the  innumerable  little  acts  of  each  day's  ne- 
cessity which  we  could  not  possibly  accom- 
plish if  every  single  act  required  a  fresh  ex- 
ercise of  will.  But  just  because  its  action  is 
unconscious  and  unregarded,  habit  blunts  the 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

edge  of  our  sensibilities.  "  Thus  let  but  a 
Rising  of  the  Sun,"  says  Carlyle,  "  let  but 
a  creation  of  the  World  happen  twice,  and 
it  ceases  to  be  marvelous,  to  be  noteworthy, 
or  noticeable." 

"  Except  ye  become  as  little  children  !  " 
Unless  the  world  is  new-created  every  day, 
unless  we  can  thrill  to  the  beauty  of  nature 
with  its  fair  surfaces  and  harmonies  of  vibrant 
sounds,  or  quicken  to  the  throb  of  human  life 
with  its  occupations  and  its  play  of  energies, 
its  burdens  and  its  joys,  unless  we  find  an  an- 
swer to  our  needs,  and  gladness,  in  sunlight 
or  storms,  in  the  sunset  and  evening  and  soli- 
tude under  the  stars,  in  fields  and  hills  or  in 
thronging  city  streets,  in  conflict  and  struggle 
or  in  the  face  of  a  friend,  unless  each  new  day 
is  a  gift  and  new  opportunity,  then  we  cannot 
interpret  the  meaning  of  life  nor  read  the 
riddle  of  art.  For  we  cannot  truly  appreciate 
art  except  as  we  learn  to  appreciate  life.  Un- 
til then  art  has  no  message  for  us ;  it  is  a  sealed 
book,  and  we  shall  not  open  the  book  nor 
loose  the  seals  thereof.  The  meaning  of  life 
is  for  the  spirit,  and  art  is  its  minister.  To 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

share  in  the  communion  we  must  become  as 
children.  As  a  child  uses  the  common  things 
of  life  to  his  own  ends,  transfiguring  them  by 
force  of  his  creative  desire,  and  fashioning 
thus  a  wonderful  world  of  his  own  by  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  shaping  imagination,  a  world  of 
limitless  incident  and  high  adventure,  so  we 
must  penetrate  the  visible  and  tangible  ac- 
tuality around  us,  the  envelope  of  seemingly 
inert  matter  cast  in  forms  of  rigid  defini- 
tion, and  we  must  open  ourselves  to  the  in- 
fluence of  nature.  That  influence  —  nature's 
power  to  inspire,  quicken,  and  dilate — flow- 
ing through  the  channel  of  the  senses,  plays 
upon  our  spirit.  The  indwelling  significance 
of  things  is  apprehended  by  the  imagina- 
tion, and  is  won  for  us  in  the  measure  that 
we  feel. 

As  we  respond  to  the  emotional  appeal  of 
the  great  universe  external  to  ourselves  we 
come  to  realize  that  the  material  world  which 
we  see  and  touch  is  not  final.  In  the  experi- 
ence of  us  all  there  are  moments  of  exaltation 
and  quickened  response,  moments  of  illumi- 
nation when — 

32 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

"  with  an  eye  made  quiet,  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things." 

The  "  life  of  things  "  is  their  significance  for 
the  spirit.  By  spirit  I  mean  the  sum  of  our 
conscious  being,  that  complete  entity  within 
us  which  we  recognize  as  the  self.  The  ma- 
terial world,  external,  visible,  tangible,  may 
be  regarded  as  the  actual  world.  The  real 
world  is  the  world  of  spiritual  forces  and  rela- 
tions, apprehended  by  the  imagination  and 
received  with  feeling.  Life,  in  the  sense  of 
our  conscious  experience  of  the  world,  is  the 
moving  of  the  spirit  in  emotion. 

The  measure  of  life  for  the  individual, 
therefore,  is  the  degree  of  intensity  with 
which  he  feels.  Experience  is  not  meted  out 
by  weeks  and  months ;  it  is  to  be  sounded  by 
the  depth  and  poignancy  of  instant  emotion. 
Variety  and  multitude  of  incident  may  crowd 
through  insentient  years  and  leave  no  record 
of  their  progress  along  the  waste  places  of 
their  march.  Or  a  day  may  be  a  lifetime.  In 
such  moments  of  intensest  experience  time 
and  space  fall  away  and  are  not.  The  outer- 

33 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

most  bounds  of  things  recede;  they  vanish 
altogether :  and  we  are  made  free  of  the  uni- 
verse. At  such  moments  we  are  truly  living; 
then  we  really  are. 

As  the  meaning  of  art  is  not  the  material 
thing  which  it  calls  into  form,  but  what  the 
work  expresses  of  life,  so  in  order  to  appre- 
ciate art  it  is  necessary  to  appreciate  life, 
which  is  the  inspiration  of  art  and  its  fulfill- 
ment. To  appreciate  life  is  to  send  out  our 
being  into  experience  and  to  feel,  —  to  realize 
in  terms  of  emotion  our  identity  with  the 
great  universe  outside  of  us,  this  world  of 
color  and  form  and  sound  and  movement,  this 
web  of  illimitable  activities  and  energies,  shot 
through  with  currents  of  endlessly  varied  and 
modulated  feeling.  "My  son,"  says  the  fa- 
ther in  Hindu  lore,  pointing  to  an  animal,  a 
tree,  a  rock,  "  my  son,  thou  art  that !  "  The 
universe  is  one.  Of  it  we  are  each  an  essential 
part,  distinct  as  individuals,  yet  fusing  with 
it  in  our  sense  of  our  vital  kinship  with  all 
other  parts  and  with  the  whole.  I  am  saun- 
tering through  the  Public  Garden  on  a  fra- 
grant hushed  evening  in  June ;  touched  by  the 

34 


THE  ATTITUDE  OF  RESPONSE 

lingering  afterglow,  the  twilight  has  not  yet 
deepened  into  night.  Grouped  about  a  bench, 
children  are  moving  softly  in  the  last  flicker 
of  play,  while  the  mother  nods  above  them. 
On  the  next  bench  a  wanderer  is  stretched  at 
full  length,  his  face  hidden  in  his  crooked-up 
arm.  I  note  a  couple  seated,  silent,  with 
shoulder  touching  shoulder.  I  meet  a  young 
man  and  woman  walking  hand  in  hand ;  they 
do  not  see  me  as  I  pass.  Beyond,  other  fig- 
ures are  soundless  shadows,  gathering  out  of 
the  enveloping  dusk.  It  is  all  so  intimate  and 
friendly.  The  air,  the  flowers,  the  bit  of 
water  through  the  trees  reflecting  the  lights 
of  the  little  bridge,  are  a  caress.  And  it  is  all 
for  me !  I  am  a  child  at  his  tired  play,  I  am 
the  sleeping  tramp,  I  am  the  young  fellow 
with  his  girl.  It  is  not  the  sentiment  of  the 
thing,  received  intellectually,  that  makes  it 
mine.  My  being  goes  out  into  these  other 
lives  and  becomes  one  with  them.  I  feel  them 
in  myself.  It  is  not  thought  that  constitutes 
appreciation;  it  is  emotion. 

Another  glimpse,  caught  this  time  through 
a  car  window.  Now  it  is  a  winter  twilight. 

35 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

The  flurry  of  snow  has  passed.  The  earth  is 
penetrated  with  blue  light,  suffused  by  it, 
merged  in  it,  ever  blue.  Vague  forms,  still 
and  shadowy,  of  hills  and  trees,  soppy  with 
light,  are  blue  within  the  blue.  The  brief 
expanse  of  bay  is  deeply  luminous  and  within 
the  pervasive  tempering  light  resolves  it- 
self into  the  cool  and  solemn  reaches  of  the 
sky  which  bends  down  and  touches  it.  Once 
more  my  spirit  meets  and  mingles  with  the 
spirit  of  the  landscape.  By  the  harmony  of  na- 
ture's forms  and  twilight  tones  I  am  brought 
into  a  larger  harmony  within  myself  and  with 
the  world  around. 

All  experience  offers  to  us  at  any  moment 
just  such  possibilities  of  living.  The  infinite 
and  ever-changing  expressiveness  of  nature  at 
every  instant  of  day  and  night  is  ours  to  read 
if  we  will  but  look  upon  it  with  the  inner 
vision.  The  works  of  men  in  cities  and  cul- 
tivated fields,  if  we  will  see  beyond  the  actual 
material,  may  quicken  our  emotions  until  we 
enact  in  ourselves  their  story  of  struggle,  of 
hopes  and  ambitions  partly  realized,  of  de- 
feat or  final  triumph.  The  faces  seen  in  a 

36 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

passing  crowd  bear  each  the  record  of  life 
lived,  of  lives  like  ours  of  joys  or  disappoint- 
ments, lives  of  great  aims  or  no  aims  at  all, 
of  unwritten  heroisms,  of  hidden  tragedies 
bravely  borne,  lives  sordid  and  mean  or  gen- 
erous and  bright.  The  panorama  of  the  world 
unrolls  itself  for  us.  It  is  ours  to  experience 
and  live  out  in  our  own  being  according  as 
we  are  able  to  feel.  Just  as  the  impulse  to 
expression  is  common  to  all  men,  and  all  are 
artists  potentially,  differing  in  the  depth  of 
their  insight  into  life  and  in  the  degree  of 
emotion  they  have  to  express,  so  appreciation 
lies  within  the  scope  of  all,  and  the  measure 
of  it  to  us  as  individuals  is  determined  by  our 
individual  capability  of  response. 

Life  means  to  each  one  of  us  what  we  are 
able  to  receive  of  it  in  "  wise  passiveness," 
and  then  are  able  by  the  constructive  force 
of  our  individuality  to  shape  into  coherence 
and  completeness.  As  the  landscape  which  an 
artist  paints  is  the  landscape  visioned  in  im- 
agination, though  composed  of  forms  given 
in  nature,  so  life  furnishes  us  the  elements 
of  experience,  and  out  of  these  elements 

37 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

we  construct  a  meaning,  each  for  himself. 
To  one  man  an  object  or  incident  is  com- 
monplace and  blank;  to  another  it  may  be 
charged  with  significance  and  big  with  pos- 
sibilities of  fuller  living.  "  In  every  object," 
says  Carlyle,  "  there  is  inexhaustible  mean- 
ing ;  the  eye  sees  in  it  what  it  brings  means 
of  seeing."  To  see  is  not  merely  to  receive 
an  image  upon  the  retina.  The  stimulation 
of  the  visual  organ  becomes  sight  properly 
only  as  the  record  is  conveyed  to  the  con- 
sciousness. When  I  am  reading  a  description 
of  a  sunset,  there  is  an  image  upon  my  retina 
of  a  white  page  and  black  marks  of  different 
forms  grouped  in  various  combinations.  But 
what  I  see  is  the  sunset.  Momentarily  to  rest 
the  eye  upon  a  landscape  is  not  really  to  see 
it,  for  our  mind  may  be  quite  otherwhere. 
We  see  the  landscape  only  as  it  becomes  part 
of  our  conscious  experience.  The  beauty  of 
it  is  in  us.  A  novelist  conceives  certain  char- 
acters and  assembles  them  in  action  and  re- 
action, but  it  is  we  who  in  effect  create  the 
story  as  we  read.  We  take  up  a  novel,  perhaps, 
which  we  read  five  years  ago ;  we  find  in  it 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

now  new  significances  and  appeals.  The  book 
is  the  same ;  it  is  we  who  have  changed.  We 
bring  to  it  the  added  power  of  feeling  of  those 
five  years  of  living.  Art  works  not  by  infor- 
mation but  by  evocation.  Appreciation  is  not 
reception  but  response.  The  artist  must  com- 
pel us  to  feel  what  he  has  felt,  —  not  some- 
thing else.  But  the  scope  of  his  message,  with 
its  overtones  and  subtler  implications,  is  lim- 
ited by  the  rate  of  vibration  to  which  we  are 
attuned. 

"  All  architecture  is  what  you  do  to  it  when  you 

look  upon  it, 
(Did  you  think  it  was  in  the  white  or  gray  stone? 

or  the  lines  of  the  arches  and  cornices  ?) 
All  music  is  what  awakes  from  you  when  you  are 

reminded  by  the  instruments." 

And  again  Whitman  says,  "  A  great  poem 
is  no  finish  to  a  man  or  woman,  but  rather 
a  beginning."  The  final  significance  of  both 
life  and  art  is  not  won  by  the  exercise  of 
the  intellect,  but  unfolds  itself  to  us  in  the 
measure  that  we  feel. 

To  illustrate  the  nature  of  appreciation 
and  the  power  from  which  appreciation  de- 

39 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

rives,  the  power  to  project  ourselves  into  the 
world  external  to  us,  I  spoke  of  the  joy  of 
living  peculiar  to  the  child  and  to  the  child- 
like in  heart.  But  that  is  not  quite  the  whole 
of  the  story.  A  child  by  force  of  his  imagi- 
nation and  capacity  of  feeling  is  able  to  pass 
beyond  the  limits  of  material,  and  he  lives 
in  a  world  of  exhaustless  play  and  happiness; 
for  him  objects  are  but  means  and  not  an 
end.  To  transcend  thus  the  bounds  of  mat- 
ter imposed  by  the  senses  and  to  live  by  the 
power  of  emotion  is  the  first  condition  of 
appreciation.  The  second  condition  of  ap- 
preciation is  to  feel  and  know  it,  to  become 
conscious  of  ourselves  in  our  relation  to  the 
object.  To  live  is  the  purpose  of  life;  to  be 
aware  that  we  are  living  is  its  fulfillment  and 
the  reward  of  appreciation. 

Experience  has  a  double  value.  There  is 
the  instant  of  experience  itself,  and  then  the 
reaction  on  it.  A  child  is  unconscious  in  his 
play;  he  is  able  to  forget  himself  in  it  com- 
pletely. At  that  moment  he  is  most  happy. 
The  instant  of  supreme  joy  is  the  instant 
of  ecstasy,  when  we  lose  all  consciousness  of 

40 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

ourselves  as  separate  and  distinct  individu- 
alities. We  are  one  with  the  whole.  But 
experience  does  not  yield  us  its  fullest  and 
permanent  significance  until,  having  aban- 
doned ourselves  to  the  moment,  we  then  re- 
act upon  it  and  become  aware  of  what  the 
moment  means.  A  group  of  children  are  at 
play.  Without  thought  of  themselves  they 
are  projected  into  their  sport;  with  their 
whole  being  merged  in  it,  they  are  intensely 
living.  A  passer  on  the  street  stands  and 
watches  them.  For  the  moment,  in  spirit 
he  becomes  a  child  with  them.  In  himself 
he  feels  the  absorption  and  vivid  reality  to 
them  of  what  they  are  doing.  But  he  feels 
also  what  they  do  not  feel,  and  that  is,  what 
it  means  to  be  a  child.  Where  they  are  un- 
conscious he  is  conscious ;  and  therefore  he 
is  able,  as  they  are  not,  to  distill  the  signifi- 
cance of  their  play.  This  recognition  makes 
possible  the  extension  of  his  own  life;  for 
the  man  adds  to  himself  the  child.  The  re- 
proach is  sometimes  brought  against  Walt 
Whitman  that  the  very  people  he  writes 
about  do  not  read  him.  The  explanation  is 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

simple  and  illustrates  the  difference  between 
the  unconscious  and  the  conscious  reception 
of  life.  The  "  average  man  "  who  is  the 
hero  of  Whitman's  chants  is  not  aware  of 
himself  as  such.  He  goes  about  his  business, 
content  to  do  his  work ;  and  that  makes  up 
his  experience.  It  is  not  the  average  man 
himself,  but  the  poet  standing  outside  and 
looking  on  with  imaginative  sympathy,  who 
feels  what  it  means  to  be  an  average  man. 
It  is  the  poet  who  must "  teach  the  average 
man  the  glory  of  his  daily  walk  and  trade." 
It  is  not  enough  to  be  happy  as  children  are 
happy, — unconsciously.  We  must  be  happy 
and  know  it  too. 

The  attitude  of  appreciation  is  the  atti- 
tude of  response,  —  the  projection  of  our- 
selves into  new  and  fuller  ranges  of  feeling, 
with  the  resultant  extension  of  our  person- 
ality and  a  larger  grasp  on  life.  We  do  not 
need  to  go  far  afield  for  experience;  it  is 
here  and  now.  To-day  is  the  only  day,  and 
every  day  is  the  best  day.  "  The  readiness 
is  all."  But  mere  contact  with  the  surface 
of  life  is  not  enough.  Living  does  not  con- 

42 


THE   ATTITUDE   OF   RESPONSE 

sist  in  barely  meeting  the  necessities  of  our 
material  existence ;  to  live  is  to  feel  vibrantly 
throughout  our  being  the  inner  significance 
of  things,  their  appeal  and  welcome  to  the 
spirit.  This  fair  world  of  color  and  form  and 
texture  is  but  a  show  world,  after  all,  —  this 
world  which  looms  so  near  that  we  can  see 
it,  touch  it,  which  comes  to  us  out  of  the 
abysms  of  time  and  recedes  into  infinitudes 
of  space  whither  the  imagination  cannot 
follow  it.  The  true  and  vital  meaning  of 
it  resides  within  and  discovers  itself  to  us 
finally  as  emotion.  Some  of  this  meaning 
art  reveals  to  us,  and  in  that  measure  it  helps 
us  to  find  ourselves.  But  art  is  only  the 
means.  The  starting-point  of  the  appreci- 
ation of  art,  and  its  goal,  is  the  appreciation 
of  life.  The  reward  of  living  is  the  added 
ability  to  live.  And  life  yields  its  fullest  op- 
portunities, its  deepest  tragedies,  its  highest 
joys,  all  its  infinite  scope  of  feeling,  to  those 
who  enter  by  the  gate  of  appreciation. 


Ill 

TECHNIQUE    AND    THE    LAYMAN 

A  PEASANT  is  striding  across  a  field  in 
the  twilight  shadow  of  a  hill.  Beyond, 
where  the  fold  of  the  hill  dips  down  into 
the  field,  another  peasant  is  driving  a  team 
of  oxen  at  a  plow.  The  distant  figures  are 
aglow  with  golden  mellow  light,  the  last 
light  of  day,  which  deepens  the  gloom  of 
the  shadowing  hillside.  The  sower's  cap  is 
pulled  tight  about  his  head,  hiding  under  its 
shade  the  unseeing  eyes.  The  mouth  is  bru- 
tal and  grim.  The  heavy  jaw  flows  down 
into  the  thick,  resistive  neck.  The  right  arm 
swings  powerfully  out,  scattering  the  grain. 
The  left  is  pressed  to  his  body ;  the  big,  stub- 
born hand  clutches  close  the  pouch  of  seed. 
Action  heroic,  elemental ;  the  dumb  bearing 
of  the  universal  burden.  In  the  flex  of  the 
shoulder,  the  crook  of  the  outstretched  arm, 
the  conquering  onward  stride,  is  expressed 

44 


TECHNIQUE  AND   THE   LAYMAN 

all  the  force  of  that  word  of  the  Lord  to  the 
first  toiler,  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt 
thou  eat  bread." 

Three  men  are  standing  before  Millet's 
canvas. 

One  recognizes  the  subject  of  the  picture. 
With  the  pleasure  of  recognition  he  notes 
what  the  artist  has  here  represented,  and  he 
is  interested  in  the  situation.  This  is  a  pea- 
sant, and  he  is  sowing  his  grain.  So  the  on- 
looker stands  and  watches  the  peasant  in  his 
movement,  and  he  thinks  about  the  sower, 
recalling  any  sower  he  may  have  read  of  or 
seen  or  known,  his  own  sower  rather  than 
the  one  that  Millet  has  seen  and  would  show 
to  him.  This  man's  pleasure  in  the  picture 
has  its  place. 

The  second  of  the  three  men  is  attracted 
by  the  qualities  of  execution  which  the  work 
displays,  and  he  is  delighted  by  what  he  calls 
the  "  actual  beauty  "  of  the  painting.  With 
eyes  close  to  the  canvas  he  notes  the  way 
Millet  has  handled  his  materials,  his  draw- 
ing, his  color,  his  surfaces  and  edges,  all  the 
knack  of  the  brush-work,  recognizing  in 

45 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

his  examination  of  the  workmanship  of  the 
picture  that  though  Millet  was  a  very  great 
artist,  he  was  not  a  great  painter,  that  the 
reach  of  his  ideas  was  not  equaled  by  his 
technical  skill.  Then  as  the  beholder  stands 
back  from  the  canvas  to  take  in  the  ensemble, 
his  eye  is  pleased  by  the  color-harmony,  it 
rests  lovingly  upon  the  balance  of  the  com- 
position, and  follows  with  satisfaction  the 
rhythmic  flow  of  line.  His  enjoyment  is 
both  intellectual  and  sensuous.  And  that 
too  has  its  place. 

The  third  spectator,  with  no  thought  of 
the  facts  around  which  the  picture  is  built, 
not  observing  the  technical  execution  as  such, 
unconscious  at  the  moment  also  of  its  merely 
sensuous  charm,  feels  within  himself,  "  /  am 
that  peasant!"  In  his  own  spirit  is  enacted 
the  agelong  world-drama  of  toil.  He  sees 
beyond  the  bare  subject  of  the  picture; 
the  medium  with  all  its  power  of  sensuous 
appeal  and  satisfaction  becomes  transparent. 
The  beholder  enters  into  the  very  being 
of  the  laborer ;  and  as  he  identifies  himself 
with  this  other  life  outside  of  him,  becom- 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

ing  one  with  it  in  spirit  and  feeling,  he  adds 
just  so  much  to  his  own  experience.  In  his 
reception  of  the  meaning  of  Millet's  paint- 
ing of  the  "  Sower  "  he  lives  more  deeply 
and  abundantly. 

It  is  the  last  of  these  three  men  who 
stands  in  the  attitude  of  full  and  true  ap- 
preciation. The  first  of  the  three  uses  the 
picture  simply  as  a  point  of  departure;  his 
thought  travels  away  from  the  canvas,  and 
he  builds  up  the  entire  experience  out  of 
his  own  knowledge  and  store  of  associations. 
The  second  man  comes  a  little  nearer  to  ap- 
preciation, but  even  he  falls  short  of  full  real- 
ization, for  he  stops  at  the  actual  material 
work  itself.  His  interest  in  the  technical 
execution  and  his  pleasure  in  the  sensuous 
qualities  of  the  medium  do  not  carry  him 
through  the  canvas  and  into  the  emotion 
which  it  was  the  artist's  purpose  to  convey. 
Only  he  truly  appreciates  the  painting  of 
the  "  Sower  "  who  feels  something  of  what 
Millet  felt,  partaking  of  the  artist's  experi- 
ence as  expressed  by  means  of  the  picture, 
and  making  it  vitally  his  own. 

47 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

But  before  the  appreciator  can  have 
brought  himself  to  the  point  of  perception 
where  he  is  able  to  respond  directly  to  the 
significance  of  art  and  to  make  the  artist's 
emotion  a  part  of  his  own  emotional  expe- 
rience, he  must  needs  have  traveled  a  long 
and  rather  devious  way.  Appreciation  is  not 
limited  to  the  exercise  of  the  intellect,  as  in 
the  recognition  of  the  subject  of  a  work  of 
art  and  in  the  interest  which  the  technically 
minded  spectator  takes  in  the  artist's  skill.  It 
does  not  end  with  the  gratification  of  the 
senses,  as  with  the  delight  in  harmonious 
color  and  rhythmic  line  and  ordered  mass. 
Yet  the  intellect  and  the  senses,  though  they 
are  finally  but  the  channel  through  which  the 
artist's  meaning  flows  to  reach  and  rouse  the 
feelings,  nevertheless  play  their  part  in  ap- 
preciation. Between  the  spirit  of  the  artist 
and  the  spirit  of  the  appreciator  stands  the  in- 
dividual work  of  art  as  the  means  of  expres- 
sion and  communication.  In  the  work  itself 
emotion  is  embodied  in  material  form.  The 
material  which  art  employs  for  expression 
constitutes  its  language.  Certain  principles 

48 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE    LAYMAN 

govern  the  composition  of  the  work,  certain 
processes  are  involved  in  the  making  of  it, 
and  the  result  possesses  certain  qualities  and 
powers.  The  processes  which  enter  into  the 
actual  fashioning  of  the  work  are  both  in- 
tellectual and  physical,  requiring  the  exer- 
cise of  the  artist's  mind  in  the  planning  of 
the  work  and  in  the  directing  of  his  hand ;  so 
far  as  the  appreciator  concerns  himself  with 
them,  they  address  themselves  to  his  intellect. 
The  finished  work  in  its  material  aspect  pos- 
sesses qualities  which  are  perceived  by  the 
senses  and  which  have  a  power  of  sensuous 
delight.  Upon  these  processes  and  these 
qualities  depends  in  part  the  total  character 
of  a  work  of  art,  and  they  must  be  reckoned 
with  in  appreciation. 

In  his  approach  to  any  work  of  art,  there- 
fore, the  layman  is  confronted  first  of  all  with 
the  problem  of  the  language  which  the  work 
employs.  Architecture  uses  as  its  language 
the  structural  capabilities  of  its  material,  as 
wood  or  stone,  bringing  all  together  into  co- 
herent and  serviceable  form.  Poetry  is  phrased 
in  words.  Painting  employs  as  its  medium 

49 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

color  and  line  and  mass.  At  the  outset,  in  the 
case  of  any  art,  we  have  some  knowledge  of 
the  signification  of  its  terms.  Here  is  a  paint- 
ing of  a  sower.  Out  of  previous  experience  of 
the  world  we  easily  recognize  the  subject  of 
the  picture.  But  whence  comes  the  majesty 
of  this  rude  peasant,  the  dignity  august  of  this 
rough  and  toil-burdened  laborer,  his  power 
to  move  us  ?  In  addition  to  the  common  sig- 
nification of  its  terms,  then,  language  seems 
to  have  a  further  expressiveness,  a  new  mean- 
ing imparted  to  it  by  the  way  in  which  the 
artist  uses  it.  In  a  poem  we  know  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words,  but  the  poetry  of  it,  which 
we  feel  rather  than  know,  is  the  creation  of 
the  poet,  wrought  out  of  the  familiar  words 
by  his  cunning  manipulation  of  them. 

"  The  grey  sea  and  the  long  black  land ; 
And  the  yellow  half-moon  large  and  low ; 
And  the  startled  little  waves  that  leap 
In  fiery  ringlets  from  their  sleep, 
As  I  gain  the  cove  with  pushing  prow, 
And  quench  its  speed  i'  the  slushy  sand. 

"  Then  a  mile  of  warm  sea-scented  beach  ; 
Three  fields  to  cross  till  a  farm  appears; 
50 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE    LAYMAN 

A  tap  at  the  pane,  the  quick  sharp  scratch 
And  blue  spurt  of  a  lighted  match, 
And  a  voice  less  loud,  thro'  its  joys  and  fears, 
Than  the  two  hearts  beating  each  to  each ! " 

A  drama  in  twelve  lines.  These  are  words 
of  common  daily  usage,  every  one,  —  for 
the  most  part  aggressively  so.  But  the  ro- 
mance which  they  effuse,  the  glamour  which 
envelops  the  commonplace  incident  as  with 
an  aura,  is  due  to  the  poet's  strategic  selec- 
tion of  his  terms,  the  one  right  word  out  of 
many  words  that  offered,  and  his  subtle  com- 
bination of  his  terms  into  melody  and  rhythm . 
The  wonder  of  the  poet's  craft  is  like  the 
musician's,  — 

"  That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth 
sound,  but  a  star." 

A  building  rises  before  us  ;  we  recognize  it 
as  a  building,  and  again  easily  we  infer  the 
purpose  which  it  serves,  that  it  is  a  temple 
or  a  dwelling.  And  then  the  beauty  of  it,  a 
power  to  affect  us  beyond  the  mere  fact  that 
it  is  a  building,  lays  hold  upon  us,  an  influ- 
ence emanating  from  it  which  we  do  not 
altogether  explain  to  ourselves.  Simply  in 


THE   GATE    OF   APPRECIATION 

its  presence  we  feel  that  we  are  pleased.  The 
fact,  the  material  which  the  artist  uses,  ex- 
ists out  there  in  nature.  But  the  beauty  of 
the  building,  the  majesty  and  power  of  the 
picture,  the  charm  of  the  poem,  —  this  is  the 
art  of  the  artist ;  and  he  wins  his  effects  by 
the  way  in  which  he  handles  his  materials, 
by  his  technique.  Some  knowledge  of  tech- 
nique, therefore,  —  not  the  artist's  know- 
ledge of  it,  but  the  ability  to  read  the  lan- 
guage of  art  as  the  artist  intends  it  to  be 
read,  —  is  necessary  to  appreciation. 

The  hut  which  the  traveler  through  a  wild 
country  put  together  to  provide  himself  shel- 
ter against  storm  and  the  night  was  in  essence 
a  work  of  art.  The  purpose  of  his  effort  was 

*~~^=Aa.—- —  ' 

not  the  hut  itself  but  shelter,  to  accomplish 
which  he  used  the  hut  as  his  means.  The 
emotion  of  which  the  work  was  the  expres- 
sion, in  this  case  the  traveler's  consciousness 
qfjhis  need,  embodied  itself  in  a  concrete 
form  and  made  use  of  material.  The  hut 
which  he  conceived  in  response  to  his  need 
became  for  him  the  subject  or  motive  of  his 
work.  For  the  actual  expression  of  his  de- 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

sign  he  took  advantage  of  the  qualities  of  his 
material,  its  capabilities  to  combine  thus  and 
so ;  these  inherent  qualities  were  his  medium. 
The  material  wood  and  stone  which  he  em- 
ployed were  the  vehicle  of  his  design.  The 
way  in  which  he  handled  his  vehicle  toward 
the  construction  of  the  hut,  availing  himself 
of  the  qualities  and  capabilities  of  his  ma- 
terial, might  be  called  his  technique. 

The  sight  of  some  landscape  wakens  in 
the  beholder  a  vivid  and  definite  emotion ; 
he  is  moved  by  it  to  some  form  of  expression. 
If  he  is  a  painter  he  will  express  his  emotion 
by  means  of  a  picture,  which  involves  in  the 
making  of  it  certain  elements  and  certain 
processes.  The  picture  will  present  selected 
facts  in  the  landscape;  the  landscape,  then, 
as  constructed  according  to  the  design  the 
painter  has  conceived  of  it,  becomes  the  mo- 
tive or  subject  of  his  picture.  The  particular 
aspects  of  the  landscape  which  the  picture 
records  are  its  color  and  its  form.  These 
qualities  of  color  and  form  are  the  painter's 
medium.  An  etching  of  the  scene  would  use 
not  color  but  line  to  express  the  artist's  emo- 

53 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION. 

tion  in  its  presence ;  so  line  is  the  medium  of 
etching.  But  "qualities"  of  objects  are  an 
abstraction  unless  they  are  embodied  in  ma- 
terial. In  order,  therefore,  to  give  his  medium 
actual  embodiment  the  painter  uses  pigment, 
as  oil-color  or  water-color  or  tempera,  laid 
upon  a  surface,  as  canvas,  wood,  paper,  plaster ; 
this  material  pigment  is  his  vehicle.  The 
etcher  employs  inked  scratches  upon  his  plate 
of  zinc  or  copper,  bitten  by  acid  or  scratched 
directly  by  the  needle ;  these  marks  of  ink  are 
the  vehicle  of  etching.  To  the  way  in  which 
the  artist  uses  his  medium  for  practical  ex- 
pression and  to  his  methods  in  the  actual 
handling  of  his  vehicle  is  applied  the  term 
technique.  The  general  conception  of  his 
picture,  its  total  design,  the  choice  of  mo- 
tive, the  selection  of  details,  the  main  scheme 
of  composition,  —  these  belong  to  the  great 
strategy  of  his  art.  The  application  of  these 
principles  in  practice  and  their  material 
working  out  upon  his  canvas  are  an  affair  of 
tactics  and  fall  within  the  province  of  tech- 
nique. 

The  ultimate  significance  of  a  work  of  art 
54 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

is  its  content  of  emotion,  the  essential  con- 
trolling idea,  which  inspires  the  work  and 
gives  it  concrete  form.  In  its  actual  embodi- 
ment, the  expressive  power  of  the  work  re- 
sides in  the  medium.  The  medium  of  any 
art,  then,  as  color  and  mass  in  painting,  line 
in  drawing  and  etching,  form  in  sculpture, 
sound  in  music,  is  its  means  of  expression 
and  constitutes  its  language.  Now  the  sig- 
nification of  language  derives  from  conven- 
tion. Line,  for  example,  which  may  be  so 
sensitive  and  so  expressive,  is  only  an  abstrac- 
tion and  does  not  exist  in  nature.  What  the 
draughtsman  renders  as  line  is  objectively  in 
fact  the  boundary  of  forms.  A  head,  with  all 
its  subtleties  of  color  and  light  and  shade, 
may  be  represented  by  a  pencil  or  charcoal 
drawing,  black  upon  a  white  surface.  It  is 
not  the  head  which  is  black  and  white,  but 
the  drawing.  Our  acceptance  of  the  drawing 
as  an  adequate  representation  of  the  head  rests 
upon  convention.  Writing  is  an  elementary 
kind  of  drawing;  the  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet were  originally  pictures  or  symbols.  So 
to-day  written  or  printed  letters  are  arbitrary 

55 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

symbols  of  sounds,  and  grouped  together  in 
arbitrary  combinations  they  form  words, 
which  are  symbols  of  ideas.  The  word  sum 
stood  to  the  old  Romans  for  the  idea  "  I  am ;" 
to  English-speaking  people  the  word  signi- 
fies a  "  total"  and  also  a  problem  in  arith- 
metic. A  painting  of  a  landscape  does  not 
attempt  to  imitate  the  scene;  it  uses  colors 
and  forms  as  symbols  which  serve  for  ex- 
pression. The  meaning  attaching  to  these 
symbols  derives  from  common  acceptance 
and  usage.  Japanese  painting,  rendering  the 
abstract  spirit  of  movement  of  a  wave,  for 
example,  rather  than  the  concrete  details  of 
its  surface  appearance,  differs  fundamentally 
from  the  painting  of  the  western  world ;  it 
is  none  the  less  pregnant  with  meaning  for 
those  who  know  the  convention.  To  under- 
stand language,  therefore,  we  must  under- 
stand the  convention  and  accept  its  terms. 
The  value  of  language  as  a  means  of  expres- 
sion and  communication  depends  upon  the 
knowledge,  common  to  the  user  and  to  the 
person  addressed,  of  the  signification  of  its 
terms.  Its  effectiveness  is  determined  by  the 

56 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

way  in  which  it  is  employed,  involving  the 
choice  of  terms,  as  the  true  line  for  the  false  or 
meaningless  one,  the  right  value  or  note  of 
color  out  of  many  that  would  almost  do,  the 
exact  and  specific  word  rather  than  the  vague 
and  feeble ;  involving  also  the  combination 
of  terms  into  articulate  forms.  These  ways 
and  methods  in  the  use  of  language  are  the 
concern  of  technique.  Technique,  therefore, 
plays  an  important  part  in  the  creation  and 
the  ultimate  fortunes  of  the  artist's  work. 

Just  here  arises  a  problem  for  the  layman  in 
his  approach  to  art.  The  man  who  says,  "  I 
don't  know  anything  about  art,  but  I  know 
what  I  like,"  is  a  familiar  figure  in  our  midst ; 
of  such,  for  the  most  part,  the  "  public  "  of 
art  is  constituted.  What  he  really  means  is, 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  technique, 
but  art  interests  me.  I  read  books,  I  go  to 
concerts  and  the  theatre,  I  look  at  pictures ; 
and  in  a  way  they  have  something  for  me." 
If  we  make  this  distinction  between  art  and 
technique,  the  matter  becomes  simplified. 
The  layman  does  not  himself  paint  pictures 
or  write  books  or  compose  music ;  his  contact 

57 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

with  art  is  with  the  purpose  of  appreciation. 
Life  holds  some  meaning  for  him,  as  he  is  en- 
gaged in  living,  and  there  his  chief  interest 
lies.  So  art  too  has  a  message  addressed  to 
him,  for  art  starts  with  life  and  in  the  end 
comes  back  to  it.  If  art  is  not  the  expression 
of  vital  feeling,  in  its  turn  communicating  the 
feeling  to  the  appreciator  so  that  he  makes  it 
a  real  part  of  his  experience  of  life,  then  the 
thing  called  art  is  only  an  exercise  in  dexterity 
for  the  maker  and  a  pastime  for  the  receiver ; 
it  is  not  art.  But  art  is  not  quite  the  same  as 
lifeat  first  hand;  it  is  rather  the  distillment  of 
it.  In  order  to  render  the  significance  of  life 
as  he  has  perceived  and  felt  it,  the  artist  se- 
lects and  modifies  his  facts ;  and  his  work  de- 
pends for  its  expressiveness  upon  the  material 
form  in  which  the  emotion  is  embodied.  The 
handling  of  material  to  the  end  of  making  it 
expressive  is  an  affair  of  technique.  The  lay- 
man may  ask  himself,  then,  To  what  extent 
is  a  knowledge  of  technique  necessary  for 
appreciation?  And  how  may  he  win  that 
knowledge  ? 

On  his  road  to  appreciation  the  layman  is 

58 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE    LAYMAN 

beset  with  difficulties.  Most  of  the  talk  about 
art  which  he  hears  is  either  the  translation  of 
picture  or  sonata  into  terms  of  literary  senti- 
ment or  it  is  a  discussion  of  the  way  the  thing 
is  done.  He  knows  at  least  that  painting  is 
not  the  same  as  literature  and  that  music  has 
its  own  province;  he  recognizes  that  the 
meaning  of  pictures  is  not  literary  but  picto- 
rial, the  meaning  of  music  is  musical.  But 
the  emphasis  laid  upon  the  manner  of  execu- 
tion confuses  and  disturbs  him.  At  the  outset 
he  frankly  admits  that  he  has  no  knowledge 
of  technical  processes  as  such.  Yet  each  art 
must  be  read  in  its  own  language,  and  each 
has  its  special  technical  problems.  He  realizes 
that  to  master  the  technique  of  any  single  art 
is  a  career.  And  yet  there  are  many  arts,  all 
of  which  may  have  some  message  for  him  in 
their  own  kind.  If  he  must  be  able  to  paint 
in  order  to  enjoy  pictures  rightly,  if  he  can- 
not listen  intelligently  at  a  concert  without 
being  able  himself  to  compose  or  at  least  to 
perform,  his  case  for  the  appreciation  of  art 
seems  hopeless. 

If  the  layman  turns  to  his  artist  friends  for 
59 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

enlightenment  andalittle  sympathy,  it  is  pos- 
sible he  may  encounter  a  rebuff.  Artists  some- 
times speak  contemptuously  of  the  public. 
"A  painter,"  they  say,  "  paints  for  painters, 
not  for  the  people ;  outsiders  know  nothing 
about  painting."  True,  outsiders  know  no- 
thing about  painting,  but  perhaps  they  know 
a  little  about  life.  If  art  is  more  than  intel- 
lectual subtlety  and  manual  skill,  if  art  is  the 
expression  of  something  the  artist  has  felt  and 
lived,  then  the  outsider  has  after  all  some 
standard  for  his  estimate  of  art  and  a  basis  for 
his  enjoyment.  He  is  able  to  determine  the 
value  of  the  work  to  himself  according  as  it 
expresses  what  he  already  knows  about  life 
or  reveals  to  him  fuller  possibilities  of  experi- 
ence which  he  can  make  his  own.  He  does 
not  pretend  to  judge  painting;  but  he  feels 
that  he  has  some  right  to  appreciate  art.  In 
reducing  all  art  to  a  matter  of  technique  art- 
ists themselves  are  not  quite  consistent.  My 
friends  Jones,  a  painter,  and  Smith,  a  com- 
poser, do  not  withhold  their  opinion  of  this 
or  that  novel  and  poem  and  play,  and  they 
discourse  easily  on  the  performances  of  Mr. 

60 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE    LAYMAN 

James  and  Mr.  Swinburne  and  Mr.  Shaw; 
but  I  have  no  right  to  talk  about  the  meaning 
to  me  of  Jones's  picture  or  Smith's  sonata,  for 
my  business  is  with  words,  and  therefore  I 
cannot  have  any  concern  with  painting  or 
with  music.  To  be  sure,  literature  uses  as  its 
vehicle  the  means  of  communication  of  daily 
life,  namely,  words.  But  the  art  in  literature, 
the  interpretation  of  life  which  it  gives  us,  as 
distinct  from  mere  entertainment,  is  no  more 
generally  appreciated  than  the  art  in  painting. 
A  man's  technical  accomplishment  may  be 
best  understood  and  valued  by  his  fellow- 
workmen  in  the  same  craft;  and  often  the 
estimate  set  by  artists  on  their  own  work  is 
referred  to  the  qualities  of  its  technical  exe- 
cution. As  a  classic  instance,  Raphael  sent 
some  of  his  drawings  to  Albert  Diirer  to 
"  show  him  his  hand."  So  a  painter  paints 
for  the  painters.  But  the  artist  gives  back 
a  new  fullness  and  meaning  to  life  and  ad- 
dresses all  who  live.  That  man  is  fortunate 
who  does  not  allow  his  progress  toward  ap- 
preciation to  be  impeded  by  this  confusion 
of  technique  with  art. 

61 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

The  emphasis  which  workers  in  any  art 
place  upon  their  powers  of  execution  is  for 
themselves  a  false  valuation  of  technique,  and 
it  tends  to  obscure  the  layman's  vision  of  es- 
sentials. Technique  is  not,  as  it  would  seem, 
the  whole  of  art,  but  only  a  necessary  part.  A 
work  of  art  in  its  creation  involves  two  ele- 
ments, —  the  idea  and  the  execution.  The 
idea  is  the  emotional  content  of  the  work ; 
the  execution  is  the  practical  expressing  of 
the  idea  by  means  of  the  medium  and  the 
vehicle.  The  idea  of  Millet's  "  Sower  "  is 
the  emotion  attending  his  conception  of  the 
laborer  rendered  in  visual  terms ;  the  execu- 
tion of  the  picture  is  exhibited  in  the  com- 
position, the  color,  the  drawing,  and  the  ac- 
tual brush-work.  So,  too,  the  artist  himself 
is  constituted  by  two  qualifications,  which 
must  exist  together:  first,  the  power  of  the 
subject  over  the  artist ;  and  second,  the  art- 
ist's power  over  his  subject.  The  first  of  these 
without  the  second  results  simply  in  emotion 
which  does  not  come  to  expression  as  art. 
The  second  without  the  first  produces  sham 
art;  the  semblance  of  art  may  be  fashioned 

62 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

by  technical  skill,  but  the  life  which  inspires 
art  is  wanting.);  The  artist,  then,  may  be  re- 
garded in  a  dual  aspect.  He  is  first  a  tem- 
perament and  a  mind,  capable  of  feeling 
intensely  and  able  to  integrate  his  emotions 
into  unified  coherent  form ;  in  this  aspect  he 
is  essentially  the  artist.  Secondly,  for  the  ex- 
pression of  his  idea  he  brings  to  bear  on  the 
execution  of  his  work  his  command  of  the 
medium,  his  intellectual  adroitness  and  his 
manual  skill ;  in  this  aspect  he  is  the  techni- 
cian.. Every  artist  has  a  special  kind  of  means 
with  which  he  works,  requiring  knowledge 
and  dexterity ;  but  it  may  be  assumed  that  in 
addition  to  his  ability  to  express  himself  he 
has  something  to  say.  We  may  test  a  man's 
merit  as  a  painter  by  his  ability  to  paint//  As 
an  artist  his  greatness  is  to  be  judged  with  i 
reference  to  the  greatness  of  his  ideas ;  and 
in  his  capacity  as  artist  his  technical  skill  de- 
rives its  value  from  the  measure  in  which  it 
is  adequate  to  their  expression.)  In  the  case 
of  an  accomplished  pianist  or  violinist  we  take 
his  proficiency  of  technique  for  granted,  and 
we  ask,  What,  with  all  this  power  of  expres- 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

sion  at  his  command,  has  he  to  say?  In  his 
rendering  of  the  composer's  work  what  has 
he  of  his  own  to  contribute  by  way  of  inter- 
pretation ?  Conceding  at  once  to  Mr.  Sar- 
gent his  supreme  competence  as  a  painter,  his 
consummate  mastery  of  all  his  means,  we  ask, 
What  has  he  seen  in  this  man  or  this  woman 
before  him  worthy  of  the  exercise  of  such 
skill  ?  In  terms  of  the  personality  he  is  inter- 
preting, what  has  he  to  tell  us  of  the  beauty 
and  scope  of  life  and  to  communicate  to  us 
of  larger  emotional  experience  ?  The  worth 
of  technique  is  determined,  not  by  its  excel- 
ence  as  such,  but  by  its  efficiency  for  ex- 
pression. 

It  is  difficult  for  an  outsider  to  understand 
why  painters,  writers,  sculptors,  and  the  rest, 
who  are  called  artists  in  distinction  from  the 
ordinary  workman,  should  make  so  much  of 
their  skill.  Any  man  who  works  freely  and 
with  joy  takes  pride  in  his  performance.  And 
instinctively  we  have  a  great  respect  for  a 
good  workman.  Skill  is  not  confined  to  those 
who  are  engaged  in  what  is  conventionally 
regarded  as  art.  Indeed,  the  distinction  im- 

64 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

plied  in  favor  of  "art"  is  unjust  to  the  wide 
range  of  activities  of  familiar  daily  life  into 
which  the  true  art  spirit  may  enter.  A  boot- 
black who  polishes  his  shoes  as  well  as  he  can, 
not  merely  because  he  is  to  be  paid  for  it, 
though  too  he  has  a  right  to  his  pay,  but  be- 
cause that  is  his  work,  his  means  of  expres- 
sion, even  he  works  in  the  spirit  of  an  artist. 
Extraordinary  skill  is  often  developed  by 
those  who  are  quite  outside  the  pale  of  art. 
In  a  circus  or  music-hall  entertainment  we 
may  see  a  man  throw  himself  from  a  trapeze 
swinging  high  in  air,  and  after  executing  a 
double  somersault  varied  by  complex  lateral 
gyrations,  catch  the  extended  arms  of  his  part- 
ner, who  is  hanging  by  his  knees  on  another 
flying  bar.  Or  a  man  leaning  backwards  over 
a  chair  shoots  at  a  distance  of  fifty  paces  a 
lump  of  sugar  from  between  the  foreheads  of 
two  devoted  assistants.  Such  skill  presupposes 
intelligence.  Of  the  years  of  training  and 
practice,  of  the  sacrifice  and  thepower  of  will, 
that  have  gone  to  the  accomplishment  of  this 
result,  the  looker-on  can  form  but  little 
conception.  These  men  are  not  considered 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

artists.  Yet  a  painter  who  uses  his  picture  to 
exhibit  a  skill  no  more  wonderful  than  theirs 
would  be  grieved  to  be  accounted  an  acrobat 
or  a  juggler.^  Only  such  skill  as  is  employed 
in  the  service  of  expression  is  to  be  reckoned 
with  as  an  element  in  art;  and  in  art  it  is 
of  value  not  for  its  own  sake  but  as  it  serves 
its  purpose.  The  true  artist  subordinates  his 
technique  to  expression,  justly  making  it  a 
means  and  not  the  end.  He  cares  for  the  sig- 
nificance of  his  idea  more  than  for  his  sleight 
of  hand ;  he  effaces  his  skill  for  his  art.jj 

A  recognition  of  the  skill  exhibited  in 
the  fashioning  of  a  work  of  art,  however,  if 
seen  in  its  right  relation  to  the  total  scope  of 
the  work,  is  a  legitimate  source  of  pleasure. 
Knowledge  of  any  subject  brings  its  satis- 
factions. To  understand  with  discerning  in- 
sight the  workings  of  any  process,  whether 
it  be  the  operation  of  natural  laws,  as  in  as- 
tronomy or  chemistry,  whether  it  be  the  con- 
struction of  a  locomotive,  the  playing  of  a 
game  of  foot-ball,  or  the  painting  of  a  pic- 
ture, to  see  the  "  wheels  go  round  "  and 
know  the  how  and  the  wherefore, — undeni- 

66 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

ably  this  is  a  source  of  pleasure.  In  the  un- 
derstanding of  technical  processes,  too,  there 
is  a  further  occasion  of  enjoyment,  differing 
somewhat  from  the  satisfaction  which  fol- 
lows in  the  train  of  knowledge. 

"  There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains 
Which  only  poets  know," 

says  the  poet  Cowper.  There  is  a  pleasure 
in  the  sense  of  difficulties  overcome  known 
only  to  those  who  have  tried  to  overcome 
them.  But  such  enjoyment  —  the  pleasure 
which  comes  with  enlightened  recognition 
and  the  pleasure  of  mastery  and  triumph  — 
derives  from  an  intellectual  exercise  and  is 
not  to  be  confounded  with  the  full  apprecia- 
tion of  art.  Art,  finally,  is  not  the  "how  "  but 
the  "  what "  in  terms  of  its  emotional  sig- 
nificance. Our  pleasure  in  the  result,  in  the 
design  itself,  is  not  the  same  as  our  pleasure 
in  the  skill  that  produced  the  work.l)  The 
design,  with  the  message  that  it  carries,  not 
the  making  of  it,  is  the  end  of  art.) I 

Too  great  preoccupation  with  technique 
conflicts  with  full  appreciation.  To  fix  the 
attention  upon  the  manner  of  expression  is 

6? 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

to  lose  the  meaning.  A  style  which  attracts 
notice  to  itself  is  in  so  far  forth  bad  style,  be- 
cause it  defeats  its  own  end,  which  is  expres- 
sion ;  but  beyond  this,  our  interest  in  techni- 
cal execution  is  purely  intellectual,  whereas 
art  reaches  the  emotions.  At  the  theatre  a 
critic  sits  unmoved;  dispassionately  he  looks 
upon  the  personages  of  the  drama,  as  they 
advance,  retreat,  and  countermarch,  little  by 
little  yielding  up  their  secret,  disclosing  all 
the  subtle  interplay  of  human  motives.  From 
the  heights  of  his  knowledge  the  critic  sur- 
veys the  spectacle  ;  with  an  insight  born  of 
his  learning,  he  penetrates  the  mysteries 
of  the  playwright's  craft.  He  knows  what 
thought  and  skill  have  gone  into  this  result; 
he  knows  the  weary  hours  of  toil,  the  diffi- 
culties of  invention  and  selection,  the  heroic 
rejections,  the  intricacies  of  construction,  the 
final  triumph.  He  sees  it  all  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  master-workman,  and  sympa- 
thetically he  applauds  his  success ;  his  recog- 
nition of  what  has  been  accomplished  is  his 
pleasure.  But  all  the  while  he  has  remained 
on  the  outside.  Not  for  a  moment  has  he 

68 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

become  a  party  to  the  play.  He  brings  to 
it  nothing  of  his  own  feeling  and  power  of 
response.  There  has  been  no  union  of  his 
spirit  with  the  artist's  spirit,  —  that  union 
in  which  a  work  of  art  achieves  its  con- 
summation. The  man  at  his  side,  with  no 
knowledge  or  thought  of  how  the  effect  has 
been  won,  surrenders  himself  to  the  illusion. 
These  people  on  the  stage  are  more  intensely 
and  vividly  real  to  him  than  in  life  itself; 
the  artist  has  distilled  the  significance  of  the 
situation  and  communicates  it  to  him  as 
emotion.  The  man's  reaction  is  not  limited 
to  the  exercise  of  his  intellect,  —  he  gives 
himself.  In  the  experience  which  the  dra- 
matist conveys  to  him  beautifully,  shaping 
discords  into  harmony  and  disclosing  their 
meaning  for  the  spirit,  he  lives. 

A  true  artist  employs  his  medium  as  an 
instrument  of  expression ;  and  he  values  his 
own  technical  skill  in  the  handling  of  it 
according  to  the  measure  that  he  is  enabled 
thereby  to  express  himself  more  effectively. 
On  the  layman's  part  so  much  knowledge 
of  technique  is  necessary  as  makes  it  possible 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

for  him  to  understand  the  artist's  language 
and  the  added  expressiveness  wrought  out 
of  language  by  the  artist's  cunning  use  of  it. 
And  such  knowledge  is  not  beyond  his  reach. 
In  order  to  understand  the  meaning  of  any 
language  we  must  first  understand  the  signi- 
fication of  its  terms,  and  then  we  must  know 
something  of  the  ways  in  which  they  may 
be  combined  into  articulate  forms  of  expres- 
sion. The  terms  of  speech  are  words ;  in 
order  to  speak  coherently  and  articulately  we 
must  group  words  into  sentences  according 
to  the  laws  of  the  tongue  to  which  they  be- 
long. Similarly,  every  art  has  its  terms,  or 
"  parts  of  speech,"  and  its  grammar,  or  the 
ways  in  which  the  terms  are  combined.  The 
terms  of  painting  are  color  and  form,  the 
terms  of  music  are  tones.  Colors  and  forms  are 
brought  together  into  harmony  and  balance 
that  by  their  juxtaposition  they  may  be  made 
expressive  and  beautiful.  Tones  are  woven 
into  a  pattern  according  to  principles  of  har- 
mony, melody,  and  rhythm,  and  they  become 
music.  When  technique  is  turned  to  such 
uses,  not  for  the  vainglory  of  a  virtuoso,  but 

70 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

for  the  service  of  the  artist  in  his  earnest 
work  of  expression,  then  it  identifies  itself 
with  art. 

A  knowledge  of  the  signification  of  the 
terms  of  art  the  layman  may  win  for  himself 
by  a  recognition  of  the  expressive  power  of 
all  material  and  by  sensitiveness  to  it.  The  be- 
holder will  not  respond  to  the  appeal  of  a  paint- 
ing of  a  landscape  unless  he  has  himself  felt 
something  of  the  charm  or  glory  of  landscape 
in  nature;  he  will  not  quicken  and  expand 
to  the  dignity  or  force  caught  in  rigid  marble 
triumphantly  made  fluent  in  statue  or  relief 
until  he  has  realized  for  himself  the  sig- 
nificance of  form  and  movement  which  ex- 
hales from  every  natural  object.  Gesture  is  a 
universal  language.  The  mighty  burden  of 
meaning  in  Millet's  picture  of  the  "  Sower" 
is  carried  by  the  gesture  of  the  laborer  as  he 
swings  across  the  background  of  field  and 
hill,  whose  forms  also  are  expressive ;  here,  too, 
the  elemental  dignity  of  form  and  movement 
is  reinforced  by  the  solemnity  of  the  color. 
Gesture  is  but  one  of  nature's  characters 
wherewith  she  inscribes  upon  the  vivid,  shift- 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ing  surface  of  the  world  her  message  to  the 
spirit  of  man.  A  clue  to  the  understanding 
of  the  terms  of  art,  therefore,  is  found  in  the 
layman's  own  appreciation  of  the  emotional 
value  of  all  objects  of  sense  and  their  mul- 
titudinous power  of  utterance, —  the  sensi- 
tive decision  of  line,  the  might  or  delicacy 
of  form,  the  splendor  and  subtlety  of  color, 
the  magic  of  sound,  the  satisfying  virtue  of 
harmony  in  whatever  embodiment,  all  the 
beauty  of  nature,  all  the  significance  of  hu- 
man life.  And  this  appreciation  is  to  be  won 
largely  by  the  very  experience  of  it.  The 
more  we  feel,  the  greater  becomes  our  power 
for  deeper  feeling.  Every  emotion  to  which 
we  thrill  is  the  entrance  into  larger  capacity 
of  emotion.  We  may  allow  for  growth  and 
trust  to  the  inevitable  working  of  its  laws. 
In  the  appreciation  of  both  life  and  art  the 
individual  may  be  his  own  teacher  by  ex- 
perience. 

The  qualities  of  objects  with  their  inherent 
emotional  values  constitute  the  raw  material 
of  art,  to  be  woven  by  the  artist  into  a  fabric 
of  expressive  form  and  texture.  Equipped 

72 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

with  a  knowledge  of  the  terms  of  any  art,  the 
layman  has  yet  to  understand  something  of 
the  ways  in  which  the  terms  may  be  com- 
bined. Every  artist  has  his  idiom  or  charac- 
teristic style.  Rembrandt  on  the  flat  surface 
of  his  canvas  secures  the  illusion  of  form  in 
the  round  by  a  system  of  light  and  shade ; 
modeling  is  indicated  by  painting  the  parts 
in  greater  relief  in  light  and  the  parts  in  less 
relief  in  shadow.  Manet  renders  the  relief 
of  form  by  a  system  of  "  values,"  or  planes  of 
more  and  less  light.  The  local  color  of  ob- 
jects is  affected  by  the  amount  of  light  they 
receive  and  the  distance  an  object  or  part  of 
an  object  is  from  the  eye  of  the  spectator. 
Manet  paints  with  degrees  of  light,  and  he 
wins  his  effects,  not  by  contrasts  of  color,  but 
by  subtle  modulations  within  a  given  hue. 
Landscape  painters  before  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  working  with  color  in 
masses,  secured  a  total  harmony  by  bring- 
ing all  their  colors,  mixed  upon  the  palette, 
into  the  same  key.  The  "  Luminarists,"  like 
Claude  Monet,  work  with  little  spots  or 
points  of  color  laid  separately  upon  the  canvas ; 

73 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

the  fusion  of  these  separate  points  into  the 
dominant  tone  is  made  by  the  eye  of  the  be- 
holder. The  characteristic  effect  of  a  work 
of  art  is  determined  by  the  way  in  which  the 
means  are  employed.  Some  knowledge, 
therefore,  of  the  artist's  aims  as  indicated  in 
his  method  of  working  is  necessary  to  a  full 
understanding  of  what  he  wants  to  say. 

In  his  effort  to  understand  for  his  own  pur- 
poses of  appreciation  what  the  artist  has  ac- 
complished by  his  technique,  the  layman  may 
first  of  all  distinguish  between  processes  and 
results.  A  landscape  in  nature  is  beautiful  to 
the  beholder  because  he  perceives  in  it  some 
harmony  of  color  and  form  which  through 
the  eye  appeals  to  the  emotions.  His  vision 
does  not  transmit  every  fact  in  the  landscape; 
instinctively  his  eye  in  its  sweep  over  meadow 
and  trees  and  hill  selects  those  details  that 
compose.  By  this  act  of  integration  he  is  for 
himself  in  so  far  forth  an  artist.  If  he  were 
a  painter  he  would  know  what  elements  in 
the  landscape  to  put  upon  his  canvas.  But 
he  has  no  skill  in  the  actual  practice  of  draw- 
ing and  of  handling  the  brush,  no  knowledge 

74 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

of  mixing  colors  and  matching  tones;  he 
understands  nothing  of  perspective  and  "  val- 
ues "  and  the  relations  of  light  and  shade. 
He  knows  only  what  he  sees,  that  the  land- 
scape as  he  sees  it  is  beautiful;  and  equally  he 
recognizes  as  beautiful  the  presentment  of  it 
upon  canvas.  He  is  ignorant  of  the  technical 
problems  with  which  the  painter  in  practice 
has  had  to  contend  in  order  to  reach  this  re- 
sult ;  it  is  the  result  only  that  is  of  concern  to 
him  in  so  far  as  it  is  or  is  not  what  he  desires. 
The  painter's  color  is  significant  to  him,  not 
because  he  knows  how  to  mix  the  color  for 
himself,  but  because  that  color  in  nature  has 
spoken  to  him  unutterable  things  and  he  has 
responded  to  it.  The  layman  cannot  make  a 
sunset  and  he  cannot  paint  a  picture  ;  but  he 
can  enjoy  both.  So  he  cares,  then,  rather  for 
what  the  painter  has  done  than  for  how  he 
has  done  it,  because  the  processes  do  not  enter 
into  his  own  experience.  The  picture  has  a 
meaning  for  him  in  the  measure  that  it  ex- 
presses what  he  perceives  and  feels,  and  that 
is  the  beauty  of  the  landscape. 

Any   knowledge  of  technical   processes 
75 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

which  the  layman  may  happen  to  possess  may 
be  a  source  of  intellectual  pleasure.  But  for 
appreciation,  only  so  much  understanding  of 
technique  is  necessary  as  enables  him  to  receive 
the  message  of  a  given  work  in  the  degree  of 
expressiveness  which  the  artist  by  his  use  of 
his  medium  has  attained.  A  clue  to  this  un- 
derstanding may  come  to  him  by  intuition, 
by  virtue  of  his  own  native  insight  and  in- 
telligence. He  may  gain  it  by  reading  or 
by  instruction.  He  may  go  out  and  win  it  by 
intrepid  questioning  of  those  who  know ;  and 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  such  will  be  very  pa- 
tient with  him,  for  after  all  even  a  layman  has 
the  right  to  live.  Once  started  on  the  path, 
then,  in  the  mysteries  of  art  as  in  the  whole 
complex  infinite  business  of  living,  he  be- 
comes his  own  tutor  by  observation  and  ex- 
perience ;  and  he  may  develop  into  a  fuller 
knowledge  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  growth . 
Eachpartial  clue  to  understanding  brings  him 
a  step  farther  on  his  road ;  each  new  glimmer 
of  insight  beckons  him  to  ultimate  illumina- 
tion. Though  baffled  at  the  outset,  yet  patient 
under  disappointment,  undauntedly  he  pushes 

76 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

on  in  spite  of  obstacles,  until  he  wins  his  way 
at  last  to  true  appreciation. 

If  the  layman  seeks  a  standard  by  which 
to  test  the  value  of  any  technical  method,  he 
finds  it  in  the  success  of  the  work  itself.  Every 
method  is  to  be  judged  in  and  for  itself  on  its 
own  merits,  and  not  as  better  or  worse  than 
some  other  method.  Individually  we  may 
prefer  Velasquez  to  Frans  Hals;  Whistler 
may  minister  to  our  personal  satisfaction  in 
larger  measure  than  Mr.  Sargent;  we  may 
enjoy  Mr.  James  better  than  Stevenson; 
Richard  Strauss  may  stir  us  more  deeply  than 
Brahms.  We  do  not  affirm  thereby  that  im- 
pressionism is  inherently  better  than  realism, 
or  that  subtlety  is  more  to  be  desired  than 
strength  ;  the  psychological  novel  is  not  ne- 
cessarily greater  than  romance  ;  because  of 
our  preference  "programme  music"  is  not 
therefore  more  significant  than  "  absolute 
music."  The  greatness  of  an  artist  is  estab- 
lished by  the  greatness  of  his  ideas,  ade- 
quately expressed.  And  the  value  of  any 
technical  method  is  determined  by  its  own 
effectiveness  for  expression. 

77 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

There  is,  then,  no  invariable  standard  ex- 
ternal to  the  work  itself  by  which  to  judge 
technique.  For  no  art  is  final.  A  single  work 
is  the  manifestation  of  beauty  as  the  individ- 
ual artist  has  conceived  or  felt  it.  The  per- 
ception of  what  is  beautiful  varies  from  age 
to  age  and  with  each  person.  So,  too,  stand- 
ards of  beauty  in  art  change  with  each  gen- 
eration ;  commonly  they  are  deduced  from 
the  practice  of  preceding  artists.  Classicism 
formulates  rules  from  works  that  have  come 
to  be  recognized  as  beautiful,  and  it  requires 
of  the  artist  conformity  to  these  rules.  By 
this  standard,  which  it  regards  as  absolute,  it 
tries  a  new  work,  and  it  pretends  to  adjudge 
the  work  good  or  bad  according  as  it  meets 
the  requirements.  Then  a  Titan  emerges 
who  defies  the  canons,  wrecks  the  old  order, 
and  in  his  own  way,  to  the  despair  or  scorn  of 
his  contemporaries,  creates  a  work  which  the 
generation  that  follows  comes  to  see  is  beau- 
tiful. "  Every  author,"  says  Wordsworth,  "as 
far  as  he  is  great  and  at  the  same  time  origi- 
nal, has  had  the  task  of  creating  the  taste  by 
which  he  is  to  be  enjoyed."  Wordsworth 

78 


TECHNIQUE   AND   THE   LAYMAN 

in  his  own  generation  was  ridiculed ;  Millet, 
when  he  ceased  painting  nudes  for  art-deal- 
ers' windows  and  ventured  to  express  him- 
self, faced  starvation.  Every  artist  is  in  some 
measure  an  innovator ;  for  his  own  age  he  is 
a  romanticist.  But  the  romanticist  of  one  age 
becomes  a  classic  for  the  next ;  and  his  per- 
formance in  its  turn  gives  laws  to  his  succes- 
sors. Richard  Strauss,  deriving  in  some  sense 
from  Wagner,  makes  the  older  man  seem  a 
classic  and  conservative.  Then  a  new  mind 
again  is  raised  up,  a  new  temperament,  with 
new  needs ;  and  these  shape  their  own  ade- 
quate new  expression.  "The  cleanest  ex- 
pression," says  Whitman, "  is  that  which  finds 
no  sphere  worthy  of  itself  and  makes  one/' 
As  all  life  is  growth,  as  there  are  no  bounds 
to  the  possibilities  of  human  experience,  so 
the  workings  of  the  art-impulse  cannot  be 
compressed  within  the  terms  of  a  hard  and 
narrow  definition,  and  any  abstract  formula 
for  beauty  is  in  the  very  nature  of  things  fore- 
doomed to  failure.  No  limit  can  be  set  to  the 
forms  in  which  beauty  may  be  made  mani- 
fest. 

79 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

"  The  true  poets  are  not  followers  of  beau- 
ty, but  the  august  masters  of  beauty."  And 
Whitman's  own  verse  is  a  notable  example 
of  a  new  technique  forged  in  response  to  a 
new  need  of  expression.  Dealing  as  he  did 
with  the  big  basic  impulses  of  common  expe- 
rience accessible  to  all  men,  Whitman  needed 
a  largeness  and  freedom  of  expression  which 
he  did  not  find  in  the  accepted  and  current 
poetic  forms.  To  match  the  limitlessly  di- 
versified character  of  the  people,  occupations, 
and  aspirations  of  "these  States,"  as  yet  un- 
developed but  vital  and  inclosing  the  seed  of 
unguessed-at  possibilities,  to  tally  the  fluid, 
indeterminate,  outward-reaching  spirit  of 
democracy  and  a  new  world,  the  poet  re- 
quired a  medium  of  corresponding  scope  and 
flexibility,  all-inclusive  and  capable  of  end- 
less modulation  and  variety.  Finding  none 
ready  to  his  hand,  he  created  it.  Not  that 
Whitman  did  not  draw  for  his  resources  on 
the  great  treasury  of  world-literature;  and  he 
profited  by  the  efforts  and  achievement  of 
predecessors.  But  the  form  in  his  hands  and 
as  he  uses  it  is  new.  Whatever  we  may  think 

80 


TECHNIQUE  AND  THE  LAYMAN 

of  the  success  of  his  total  accomplishment, 
there  are  very  many  passages  to  which  we 
cannot  deny  the  name  of  poetry.  Nor  did 
Whitman  work  without  conscious  skill  and 
deliberate  regard  for  technical  processes.  His 
note-books  and  papers  reveal  the  extreme 
calculation  and  pains  with  which  he  wrote, 
beginning  with  the  collection  of  synonyms 
applying  to  his  idea  and  mood,  and  so  build- 
ing them  up  gradually,  with  many  erasures, 
corrections,  and  substitutions,  into  the  fin- 
ished poem.  Much  of  the  vigor  of  his  style  is 
due  to  his  escape  from  conventional  literary 
phrase-making  and  his  return  to  the  racy 
idiom  of  common  life.  His  verse,  apparently 
inchoate  and  so  different  from  classical  poetic 
forms,  is  shaped  with  a  cunning  incredible 
skill.  And  more  than  that,  it  is  art,  in  that 
it  is  not  a  bare  statement  of  fact,  but  com- 
municates to  us  the  poet's  emotion,  so  that 
we  realize  the  emotion  in  ourselves.  When 
his  purpose  is  considered,  it  is  seen  that  no 
other  technique  was  possible.  His  achieve- 
ment proves  that  a  new  need  creates  its  own 
means  of  expression. 

81 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

What  is  true  of  Whitman  in  respect  to  his 
technique  is  true  in  greater  or  less  degree  of 
every  artist,  working  in  any  form.  It  is  true 
of  Pheidias,  of  Giotto  and  Michelangelo  and 
Rembrandt,  of  Dante  and  Shakespeare,  of 
Beethoven  and  Wagner,  of  Monet,  of  Rodin, 
in  fine,  from  the  beginnings  of  art  to  the  day 
that  now  is.  All  have  created  out  of  existing 
forms  of  expression  their  own  idiom  and  way 
of  working.  Every  artist  owes  something  to 
his  predecessors,  but  language  is  re-created  in 
the  hands  of  each  master  and  becomes  a  new 
instrument.  There  can  be  then  no  single  for- 
mula for  technical  method  nor  any  fixed  and 
final  standard  of  judgment. 

An  artist  himself  is  justified  from  his  own 
point  of  view  in  his  concern  with  technique, 
for  upon  his  technique  depends  his  effec- 
tiveness of  expression.  His  practice  serves  to 
keep  alive  the  language  and  to  develop  its 
resources.  Art  in  its  concrete  manifestations 
is  an  evolution.  From  Velasquez  through 
Goya  to  Manet  and  Whistler  is  a  line  of  in- 
heritance. But  a  true  artist  recognizes  that 
technique  is  only  a  means.  As  an  artist  he  is 

82 


TECHNIQUE  AND  THE  LAYMAN 

seeking  to  body  forth  in  external  form  the 
vision  within,  and  he  tries  to  make  his  me- 
dium "  faithful  to  the  coloring  of  his  own 
spirit."  Every  artist  works  out  his  character- 
istic manner ;  but  the  progress  must  be  from 
within  outwards.  Toward  the  shaping  of  his 
own  style  he  is  helped  by  the  practice  of 
others,  but  he  is  helped  and  not  hindered  only 
in  so  far  as  the  manner  of  others  can  be  made 
genuinely  the  expression  of  his  own  feeling. 
Direct  borrowing  of  a  trick  of  execution  and 
servile  imitation  of  a  style  have  no  place  in 
true  art.  A  painter  who  would  learn  of  Ve- 
lasquez should  study  the  master's  technique, 
not  that  in  the  end  he  may  paint  like  Velas- 
quez, but  that  he  may  discover  just  what  it 
was  that  the  master,  by  means  of  his  individ- 
ual style,  was  endeavoring  to  express,  and  so 
bring  to  bear  on  his  own  environment  here  in 
America  to-day  the  same  ability  to  see  and 
the  same  power  of  sympathetic  and  imagi- 
native penetration  that  Velasquez  brought  to 
his  environment  at  the  court  of  seventeenth- 
century  Spain.  The  way  to  paint  like  Velas- 
quez is  to  be  Velasquez.  No  man  is  a  genius 

83 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

by  imitation.  Every  man  may  seek  to  be  a 
master  in  his  own  right.  Technique  does  not 
lead ;  it  follows.  Style  is  the  man. 

From  within  outwards.  Art  is  the  expres- 
sion of  sincere  and  vital  feeling;  the  material 
thing,  picture,  statue,  poem,  which  the  artist 
conjures  into  being  is  only  a  means.  The  mo- 
ment art  is  worshiped  for  its  own  sake,  that 
moment  decadence  begins.  "No  one,"  says 
Leonardo,  "  will  ever  be  a  great  painter  who 
takes  as  his  guide  the  paintings  of  other  men." 
In  general  the  history  of  art  exhibits  this 
course.  In  the  beginning  arises  a  man  of  deep 
and  genuine  feeling,  the  language  at  whose 
command,  however,  has  not  been  developed 
to  the  point  where  it  is  able  to  carry  the  full 
burden  of  his  meaning.  Such  a  man  is  Giotto ; 
and  we  have  the  "  burning  messages  of  pro- 
phecy delivered  by  the  stammering  lips  of 
infants."  In  the  generations  which  supervene, 
artists  with  less  fervor  of  spirit  but  with  grow- 
ing skill  of  hand,  increased  with  each  inheri- 
tance, turn  their  efforts  to  the  development 
of  their  means.  The  names  of  this  period 
of  experiment  and  research  are  Masaccio, 

84 


TECHNIQUE  AND  THE  LAYMAN 

Uccello,  Pollaiuolo,  Verrocchio.  At  length, 
when  the  fullness  of  time  is  come,  emerges 
the  master-mind,  of  original  insight  and  crea- 
tive power.  Heir  to  the  technical  achieve- 
ments of  his  predecessors,  he  is  able  to  give 
his  transcendent  idea  its  supremely  adequate 
expression.  Content  is  perfectly  matched  by 
form.  On  this  summit  stand  Michelangelo, 
Raphael,  Leonardo.  Then  follow  the  Car- 
racci,  Domenichino,  Guercino,  Guido  Reni, 
Carlo  Dolci,  men  who  mistake  the  master's 
manner  for  his  meaning.  The  idea,  the  vital 
principle,  has  spent  itself.  The  form  only  is 
left,  and  that  is  elaborated  into  the  exuber- 
ance of  decay.  Painters  find  their  impulse  no 
longer  in  nature  and  life  but  in  paint.  Tech- 
nique is  made  an  end  in  itself.  And  art  is 
dead,  to  be  reborn  in  another  shape  and  guise. 
The  relation  of  technique  to  appreciation 
in  the  experience  of  the  layman  begins  now 
to  define  itself.  Technique  serves  the  artist 
for  efficient  expression ;  an  understanding  of 
it  is  of  value  to  the  layman  in  so  far  as  the 
knowledge  helps  him  to  read  the  artist's  lan- 
guage and  thus  to  receive  his  message.  Both 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

for  artist  and  for  layman  technique  is  only  a 
means.  Out  of  his  own  intelligent  and  pa- 
tient experience  the  layman  can  win  his  way 
to  an  understanding  of  methods;  and  his  stan- 
dard of  judgment,  good  enough  for  his  own 
purposes,  is  the  degree  of  expressiveness  which 
the  work  of  art,  by  virtue  of  its  qualities  of 
execution,  is  able  to  achieve.  Skill  may  be 
enjoyed  intellectually  for  its  own  sake  as 
skill ;  in  itself  it  is  not  art.  Technique  is 
most  successful  when  it  is  least  perceived. 
Ars  celare  artem :  art  reveals  life  and  conceals 
technique.  We  must  understand  something 
of  technique  and  then  forget  it  in  appreci- 
ation. When  we  thrill  to  the  splendor  and 
glory  of  a  sunset  we  are  not  thinking  of  the 
laws  of  refraction.  Appreciation  is  not  know- 
ledge, but  emotion. 


IV 

THE    VALUE    OF    THE    MEDIUM 

AS  I  swing  through  the  wide  country  in 
the  freshness  and  fullness  of  a  blossom- 
ing, sun-steeped  morning  in  May,  breathing 
the  breath  of  the  fields  and  the  taller  by  inches 
for  the  sweep  of  the  hills  and  the  reaches  of 
sky  above  my  head,  every  nerve  in  my  body 
is  alive  with  sensation  and  delight.  My  joy 
is  in  the  fragrance  of  earth,  the  ingratiating 
warmth  of  the  fresh  morning,  the  spacious, 
inclosing  air.  My  pleasure  in  this  direct 
contact  with  the  landscape  is  a  physical  re- 
action, to  be  enjoyed  only  by  the  actual  ex- 
perience of  it ;  it  cannot  be  reproduced  by 
any  other  means ;  it  can  be  recalled  by  mem- 
ory but  faintly  and  as  the  echo  of  sensation. 
There  is,  however,  something  else  in  the 
landscape  which  can  be  reproduced ;  and  this 
recall  may  seem  more  glorious  than  the  ori- 
ginal in  nature.  There  are  elements  in  the 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

scene  which  a  painter  can  render  for  me  more 
intensely  and  vividly  than  I  perceived  them 
for  myself.  These  elements  embody  the  value 
that  the  landscape  has  for  my  emotions.  The 
scene  appeals  to  something  within  me  which 
lies  beyond  my  actual  physical  contact  with 
it  and  the  mere  sense  of  touch.  The  har- 
mony that  the  eye  perceives  in  these  open 
fields,  the  gracious  line  of  trees  along  the 
stream's  edge,  the  tossing  hills  beyond,  and 
the  arch  of  the  blue  sky  above  impregnating 
the  earth  with  light,  is  communicated  to  my 
spirit,  and  I  feel  that  this  reach  of  radiant 
country  is  an  extension  of  my  own  person- 
ality. A  painter,  by  the  manipulation  of  his 
color  and  line  and  mass,  concentrates  and  in- 
tensifies the  harmony  of  it  and  so  heightens 
its  emotional  value.  The  meaning  of  the 
scene  for  the  spirit  is  conveyed  in  terms  of 
color  and  mass. 

Color  and  mass  are  the  painter's  medium, 
his  language.  The  final  import  of  art  is  the 
idea,  the  emotional  content  of  the  work.  On 
his  way  to  the  expression  of  his  idea  the  artist 
avails  himself  of  material  to  give  his  feeling 

88 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

concrete  actuality  and  visible  or  audible  real- 
ization. He  paints  a  picture,  glorious  in  color 
and  compelling  in  the  concentration  of  its 
massing;  he  carves  a  statue,  noble  in  form  or 
subtly  rhythmic ;  he  weaves  a  pattern  of  har- 
monious sounds.  He  values  objects  not  for 
their  own  sake  but  for  the  energies  they  pos- 
sess,—  their  power  to  rouse  his  whole  being 
into  heightened  activity.  And  they  have  this 
power  by  virtue  of  their  material  qualities,  as 
color  and  form  or  sound.  A  landscape  is  gay 
in  springtime  or  sad  in  autumn.  The  differ- 
ence in  its  effect  upon  us  is  not  due  to  our 
knowledge  that  it  is  spring  or  autumn  and 
our  consciousness  of  the  associations  appro- 
priate to  each  season.  The  emotional  quality 
of  the  scene  is  largely  a  matter  of  its  color. 
Let  the  spring  landscape  be  shrouded  in  gray 
mist  sifting  down  out  of  gray  skies,  and  we 
are  sad.  Let  the  autumn  fields  and  woodland 
sparkle  and  dance  in  the  crisp  golden  sun- 
light, and  our  blood  dances  with  them  and  we 
want  to  shout  from  full  lungs.  In  music  the 
major  key  wakens  a  different  emotion  from 
the  minor.  The  note  of  a  violin  is  virgin  in 

89 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

quality;  the  voice  of  the  'cello  is  the  voice  of 
experience.  The  distinctive  emotional  value 
of  each  instrument  inheres  in  the  character 
of  its  sound.  These  qualities  of  objects  art 
uses  as  its  language. 

Though  all  art  is  one  in  essence,  yet  each 
art  employs  a  medium  of  its  own.  In  order 
to  understand  a  work  in  its  scope  and  true 
significance  we  must  recognize  that  an  artist 
thinks  and  feels  in  terms  of  his  special  me- 
dium. His  impulse  to  create  comes  with  his 
vision,  actual  or  imaginative,  of  color  or  form, 
and  his  thought  is  transmitted  to  his  hand, 
which  shapes  the  work,  without  the  interven- 
tion of  words.  The  nature  of  his  vehicle  and 
the  conditions  in  which  he  works  determine 
in  large  measure  the  details  of  the  form  which 
his  idea  ultimately  assumes.  Thus  a  potter 
designs  his  vessel  first  with  reference  to  its 
use  and  then  with  regard  to  his  material,  its 
character  and  possibilities.  As  he  models  his 
plastic  clay  upon  a  wheel,  he  naturally  makes 
his  bowl  or  jug  round  rather  than  sharply 
angular.  A  pattern  for  a  carpet,  to  be  woven 
by  a  system  of  little  squares  into  the  fabric, 

90 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

will  have  regard  for  the  conditions  in  which 
it  is  to  be  rendered,  and  it  will  differ  in  the 
character  of  its  lines  and  masses  from  a  pat- 
tern for  a  wall-paper,  which  may  be  printed 
from  blocks.  The  designer  in  stained  glass 
will  try  less  to  make  a  picture  in  the  spirit 
of  graphic  representation  than  to  produce 
an  harmonious  color-pattern  whose  outlines 
will  be  guided  and  controlled  by  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  "  leading"  of  the  window.  The 
true  artist  uses  the  conditions  and  very  limi- 
tations of  his  material  as  his  opportunity. 
The  restraint  imposed  by  the  sonnet  form  is 
welcomed  by  the  poet  as  compelling  a  col- 
lectedness  of  thought  and  an  intensity  of  ex- 
pression which  his  idea  might  not  achieve  if 
allowed  to  flow  in  freer  channels.  The  worker 
in  iron  has  his  triumphs ;  the  goldsmith  has 
his.  The  limitations  of  each  craft  open  to  it 
effects  which  are  denied  to  the  other.  There 
is  an  art  of  confectionery  and  an  art  of  sculp- 
ture. The  designer  of  frostings  who  has  a 
right  feeling  for  his  art  will  not  emulate  the 
sculptor  and  strive  to  model  in  the  grand 
style ;  the  sculptor  who  tries  to  reproduce 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

imitatively  the  textures  of  lace  or  other  fab- 
rics and  who  exuberates  in  filigrees  and  fus- 
sinesses  so  far  departs  from  his  art  as  to  rival 
the  confectioner.  In  the  degree  that  a  painter 
tries  to  wrench  his  medium  from  its  right  use 
and  function  and  attempts  to  make  his  pic- 
ture tell  a  story,  which  can  better  be  told  in 
words,  to  that  extent  he  is  unfaithful  to  his 
art.  Painting,  working  as  it  does  with  color 
and  form,  should  confine  itself  to  the  expres- 
sion of  emotion  and  idea  that  can  be  rendered 
visible.  On  the  part  of  the  appreciator,  like- 
wise, the  emotion  expressed  in  one  kind  of 
medium  is  not  to  be  translated  into  any  other 
terms  without  a  difference.  Every  kind  of 
material  has  its  special  value  for  expression. 
The  meaning  of  pictures,  accordingly,  is 
limited  precisely  to  the  expressive  power  of 
color  and  form.  The  impression  which  a  pic- 
ture makes  upon  the  beholder  maybe  phrased 
by  him  in  words,  which  are  his  own  means 
of  expression;  but  he  suggests  the  import  of 
the  picture  only  incompletely.  If  I  describe 
in  words  Millet's  painting  of  the  "Sower" 
according  to  my  understanding  of  it,  I  am 

92 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

telling  in  my  own  terms  what  the  picture 
means  to  me.  What  it  meant  to  Millet,  the 
full  and  true  significance  of  the  situation  as 
the  painter  felt  it,  is  there  expressed  upon  his 
canvas  in  terms  of  visible  aspect;  and  cor- 
respondingly, Millet's  meaning  is  fully  and 
truly  received  in  the  measure  that  we  feel  in 
ourselves  the  emotion  roused  by  the  sight  of 
his  color  and  form. 

The  essential  content  of  a  work  of  art, 
therefore,  is  modified  in  its  effect  upon  us  by 
the  kind  of  medium  in  which  it  is  presented. 
If  an  idea  phrased  originally  in  one  medium 
is  translated  into  the  terms  of  another,  we 
have  illustration.  Turning  the  pages  of  an 
"illustrated"  novel,  we  come  upon  a  plate 
showing  a  man  and  a  woman  against  the 
background  of  a  divan,  a  chair,  and  a  tea- 
table.  The  man,  in  a  frock  coat,  holding  a 
top  hat  in  his  left  hand,  extends  his  right  hand 
to  the  woman,  who  has  just  risen  from  the 
table.  The  legend  under  the  picture  reads, 
"  Taking  his  hat,  he  said  good-by."  Here 
the  illustrator  has  simply  supplied  a  visible 
image  of  what  was  suggested  in  the  text ;  the 

93 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

drawing  has  no  interest  beyond  helping  the 
reader  to  that  image.  It  is  a  statement  of  the 
bare  fact  in  other  terms.  In  the  hands  of  an 
artist,  however,  the  translation  may  take  on 
a  value  of  its  own,  changing  the  original  idea, 
adding  to  it,  and  becoming  in  itself  an  inde- 
pendent work  of  art.  This  value  derives  from 
the  form  into  which  the  idea  is  translated. 
The  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  are  only 
sublime  illustration ;  but  how  little  of  their 
power  attaches  to  the  subject  they  illustrate, 
and  how  much  of  their  sublimity  lies  in  the 
painter's  rendering !  Conversely,  an  example 
of  the  literary  interpretation  of  a  picture 
is  Walter  Pater's  description  of  Leonardo's 
Mona  Lisa. 

The  presence  that  thus  rose  so  strangely  be- 
side the  waters,  is  expressive  of  what  in  the  ways 
of  a  thousand  years  men  had  come  to  desire. 
Hers  is  the  head  upon  which  all  "  the  ends  of  the 
world  are  come,"  and  the  eyelids  are  a  little  weary. 
It  is  a  beauty  wrought  out  from  within  upon  the 
flesh,  the  deposit,  little  cell  by  cell,  of  strange 
thoughts  and  fantastic  reveries  and  exquisite  pas- 
sions. Set  it  for  a  moment  beside  one  of  those 
white  Greek  goddesses  or  beautiful  women  of  an- 

94 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

tiquity,  and  how  would  they  be  troubled  by  this 
beauty,  into  which  the  soul  with  all  its  maladies 
has  passed  !  All  the  thoughts  and  experience  of 
the  world  have  etched  and  moulded  there,  in  that 
which  they  have  of  power  to  refine  and  make 
expressive  the  outward  form,  the  animalism  of 
Greece,  the  lust  of  Rome,  the  reverie  of  the  mid- 
dle age  with  its  spiritual  ambition  and  imagina- 
tive loves,  the  return  of  the  Pagan  world,  the  sins 
of  the  Borgias.  She  is  older  than  the  rocks  among 
which  she  sits ;  like  the  vampire,  she  has  been 
dead  many  times,  and  learned  the  secrets  of  the 
grave;  and  has  been  a  diver  in  deep  seas,  and 
keeps  their  fallen  day  about  her ;  and  trafficked 
for  strange  webs  with  Eastern  merchants ;  and, 
as  Leda,  was  the  mother  of  Helen  of  Troy,  and, 
as  Saint  Anne,  the  mother  of  Mary;  and  all  this 
has  been  to  her  but  as  the  sound  of  lyres  and 
flutes,  and  lives  only  in  the  delicacy  with  which 
it  has  moulded  the  changing  lineaments,  and 
tinged  the  eyelids  and  the  hands.  The  fancy  of  a 
perpetual  life,  sweeping  together  ten  thousand  ex- 
periences, is  an  old  one  ;  and  modern  thought  has 
conceived  the  idea  of  humanity  as  wrought  upon 
by,  and  summing  up  in  itself,  all  modes  of  thought 
and  life.  Certainly  Lady  Lisa  might  stand  as  the 
embodiment  of  the  old  fancy,  the  symbol  of  the 
modern  idea. 


95 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

It  is  Leonardo's  conception,  yet  with  a 
difference.  Here  the  critic  has  woven  about 
the  subject  an  exquisite  tissue  of  associations, 
a  whole  wide  background  of  knowledge  and 
thought  and  feeling  which  it  lay  beyond  the 
painter's  range  to  evoke;  but  the  critic  is 
denied  the  vividness,  the  immediateness  and 
intimate  warmth  of  vital  contact,  which  the 
painter  was  able  to  achieve.  The  Lisa  whom 
Leonardo  shows  us  and  the  Lisa  whom  Pater 
interprets  for  us  are  the  same  in  essence  yet 
different  in  their  power  to  affect  us.  The 
difference  resulting  from  the  kind  of  medium 
employed  is  well  exemplified  by  Rossetti's 
"  Blessed  Damozel."  The  fundamental  con- 
cept of  both  poem  and  picture  is  identical, 
but  picture  and  poem  have  each  its  distinctive 
range  and  limitations  and  its  own  peculiar 
appeal.  If  we  cancel  the  common  element 
in  the  two,  the  difference  remaining  makes 
it  possible  for  us  to  realize  how  much  of  the 
effect  of  a  work  of  art  inheres  in  the  medium 
itself.  Painting  may  be  an  aid  to  literature 
in  that  it  helps  us  to  more  vivid  images;  the 
literary  interpretation  of  pictures  or  music 

96 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

gives  to  the  works  with  which  it  deals  an 
intellectual  definiteness.  But  the  functions 
peculiar  to  each  art  are  not  to  be  confounded 
nor  the  distinctions  obscured. 

Pictures  are  not  a  substitute  for  literature, 
and  their  true  meaning  is  finally  not  to  be 
translated  into  words.  Their  beauty  is  a  visi- 
ble beauty ;  the  emotions  they  rouse  are  such 
as  can  be  conveyed  through  the  sense  of 
sight.  In  the  end  they  carry  their  message 
sufficingly  as  color  and  mass.  Midway,  how- 
ever, our  enjoyment  may  be  complicated  by 
other  elements  which  have  their  place  in  our 
total  appreciation.  Thus  a  painting  of  a  land- 
scape may  appeal  to  us  over  and  above  its  in- 
herent beauty  because  we  are  already,  out  of 
actual  experience,  familiar  with  the  scene  it 
represents,  and  the  sight  of  it  wakens  in  our 
memory  a  train  of  pleasant  allied  associations. 
A  ruined  tower,  in  itself  an  exquisite  com- 
position in  color  and  line  and  mass,  may 
gather  about  it  suggestions  of  romance,  ele- 
mental passions  and  wild  life,  and  may  epit- 
omize for  the  beholder  the  whole  Middle 
Age.  Associated  interest,  therefore,  may  be 

97 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

sentimental  or  intellectual.  It  may  be  sensu- 
ous also,  appealing  to  other  senses  than  those 
of  sight.  The  sense  of  touch  plays  a  large 
part  in  our  enjoyment  of  the  world.  We  like 
the  "  feel "  of  objects,  the  catch  of  raw  silk, 
the  chill  smoothness  of  burnished  brass,  the 
thick  softness  of  mists,  the  "  amorous  wet " 
of  green  depths  of  sea.  The  senses  of  taste 
and  smell  may  be  excited  imaginatively  and 
contribute  to  our  pleasure.  Winslow  Ho- 
mer's breakers  bring  back  to  us  the  salt  fra- 
grance of  the  ocean,  and  in  the  presence  of 
these  white  mad  surges  we  feel  the  stinging 
spray  in  our  faces  and  we  taste  the  cosmic 
exhilaration  of  the  sea-wind.  But  the  final 
meaning  of  a  picture  resides  in  the  total  har- 
mony of  color  and  form,  a  harmony  into 
which  we  can  project  our  whole  personality 
and  which  itself  constitutes  the  emotional 
experience. 

All  language  in  its  material  aspect  has  a 
sensuous  value,  as  the  wealth  of  color  of 
Venetian  painting,  the  sumptuousness  of  Re- 
naissance architecture,  the  melody  of  Mr. 
Swinburne's  verse,  the  gem-like  brilliance  of 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

Stevenson's  prose,  the  all-inclusive  sensuous- 
ness,  touched  with  sensuality,  of  Wagner's 
music-dramas.  Because  of  the  charm  of  beau- 
tiful language  there  are  many  art-lovers  who 
regard  the  sensuous  qualities  of  the  work 
itself  as  making  up  the  entire  experience. 
Apart  from  any  consideration  of  intention  or 
expressiveness,  the  material  thing  which  the 
artist's  touch  summons  into  form  is  held  to 
be  "its  own  excuse  for  being." 

This  order  of  enjoyment,  valid  as  far  as  it 
goes,  falls  short  of  complete  appreciation.  It 
does  not  pass  the  delight  one  has  in  the  ra- 
diance of  gems  or  the  glowing  tincture  of 
some  fabric.  The  element  of  meaning  does 
not  enter  in.  There  is  a  beauty  for  the  eye 
and  a  beauty  for  the  mind.  The  qualities  of 
material  may  give  pleasure  to  the  senses ;  the 
object  embodying  these  qualities  becomes 
beautiful  only  as  it  is  endowed  with  a  sig- 
nificance wakened  in  the  human  spirit.  A 
landscape,  says  Walter  Crane,  "  owes  a  great 
part  of  its  beauty  to  the  harmonious  relation 
of  its  leading  lines,  or  to  certain  pleasant  con- 
trasts, or  a  certain  impressiveness  of  form  and 

99 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

mass,  and  at  the  same  time  we  shall  perceive 
that  this  linear  expression  is  inseparable  from 
the  sentiment  or  emotion  suggested  by  that 
particular  scene."  In  the  appreciation  of  art, 
to  stop  with  the  sensuous  appeal  of  the  medium 
is  to  mistake  means  for  an  end.  "Rhyme," 
says  the  author  of  "Intentions,"  "in  the 
hands  of  a  real  artist  becomes  not  merely 
a  material  element  of  metrical  beauty,  but 
a  spiritual  element  of  thought  and  passion 
also."  An  artist's  color,  glorious  or  tender, 
is  only  a  symbol  and  manifestation  to  sense 
of  his  emotion.  At  first  glance  Titian's  por- 
trait of  the  "Man  with  the  Glove"  is  an  in- 
effable color-harmony.  But  truly  seen  it 
is  infinitely  more.  By  means  of  color  and 
formal  design  Titian  has  embodied  here  his 
vision  of  superb  young  manhood;  by  the 
expressive  power  of  his  material  symbols  he 
has  rendered  visible  his  sense  of  dignity,  of 
fineness,  of  strength  in  reserve.  The  color 
is  beautiful  because  his  idea  was  beautiful. 
Through  the  character  of  this  young  man  as 
revealed  and  interpreted  by  the  artist,  the 
beholder  is  brought  into  contact  with  a  vital 

100 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

personality,  whose  influence  is  communicated 
to  him ;  in  the  appreciation  of  Titian's  mes- 
sage he  sees  and  feels  and  lives. 

The  value  of  the  medium  resides  not  in 
the  material  itself  but  in  its  power  for 
expression.  When  language  is  elaborated 
at  the  expense  of  the  meaning,  we  have  in 
so  far  forth  sham  art.  It  should  be  easy  to 
distinguish  in  art  between  what  is  vital  and 
what  is  mechanical.  The  mechanical  is  the 
product  of  mere  execution  and  calls  atten- 
tion to  the  manner.  The  vital  is  born  out  of 
inspiration,  and  the  living  idea  transmutes 
its  material  into  emotion.  Too  great  an  ef- 
fort at  realization  defeats  the  intended  illu- 
sion, for  we  think  only  of  the  skill  exercised 
to  effect  the  result,  and  the  operation  of  the 
intellect  inhibits  feeling.  In  the  greatest 
art  the  medium  is  least  perceived,  and  the 
beholder  stands  immediately  in  the  presence 
of  the  artist's  idea.  The  material  is  neces- 
sarily fixed  and  finite ;  the  idea  struggles  to 
free  itself  from  its  medium  and  untrammeled 
to  reach  the  spirit.  It  is  mind  speaking  to 
mind.  However  complete  the  material  ex- 

101 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

pression  may  seem,  it  is  only  a  part  of  what 
the  artist  would  say;  imagination  transcends 
the  actual.  In  the  art  which  goes  deepest 
into  life  the  medium  is  necessarily  inade- 
quate. The  artist  fashions  his  work  in  a  sub- 
lime despair  as  he  feels  how  little  of  the 
mighty  meaning  within  him  he  is  able  to 
convey.  In  the  greatest  works  rightly  seen 
the  medium  becomes  transparent.  Within 
the  Sistine  Chapel  the  visitor,  when  once  he 
has  yielded  to  the  illusion,  is  not  conscious 
of  plaster  surface  and  pigment ;  indeed,  he 
hardly  sees  color  and  design  as  such  at  all; 
through  them  he  looks  into  the  immensity  of 
heaven,  peopled  with  gods  and  godlike  men. 
Consummate  acting  is  that  which  makes 
the  spectator  forget  that  it  is  acting.  The 
part  and  the  player  become  one.  The  actor, 
in  himself  and  in  the  words  he  utters,  is  the 
unregarded  vehicle  of  the  dramatist's  idea. 
In  a  play  like  Ibsen's  "  Ghosts,"  the  stage,  the 
actors,  the  dialogue  merge  and  fall  away,  and 
the  overwhelming  meaning  stands  revealed 
in  its  complete  intensity.  As  the  play  opens, 
it  cuts  out  a  segment  from  the  chaos  of  hu- 

IO2 


THE  VALUE  OF  THE  MEDIUM 

man  life;  step  by  step  it  excludes  all  that  is 
unessential,  stroke  by  stroke  with  an  inevit- 
ableness  that  is  crushing,  it  converges  to  the 
great  one-thing  that  the  dramatist  wanted  to 
say,  until  at  the  end  the  spectator,  conscious 
no  longer  of  the  medium  but  only  of  the 
idea  and  all-resolving  emotion,  bows  down 
before  its  overmastering  force  with  the  cry, 
"  What  a  mind  is  there  !  " 

In  the  art  which  most  completely  achieves 
expression  the  medium  is  not  perceived  as  dis- 
tinct from  the  emotion  of  which  the  medium 
is  the  embodiment.  In  order  to  render  ex- 
pressive the  material  employed  in  its  service, 
art  seeks  constantly  to  identify  means  and  end, 
to  make  the  form  one  with  the  content.  The 
wayfarer  out  of  his  need  of  shelter  built  a  hut, 
using  the  material  which  chance  gave  into  his 
hand  and  shaping  his  design  according  to  his 
resources  ;  the  purpose  of  his  work  was  not 
the  hut  itself  but  shelter.  So  the  artist  in  any 
form  is  impelled  to  creation  by  his  need  of 
expression;  the  thing  which  he  creates  is  not 
the  purpose  and  end  of  his  effort,  but  only  the 
means.  Each  art  has  its  special  medium,  and 

103 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

each  medium  has  its  peculiar  sensuous  charm 
and  its  own  kind  of  expressiveness.  This 
power  of  sensuous  delight  is  incidental  to  the 
real  beauty  of  the  work ;  and  that  beauty  is 
the  message  the  work  is  framed  to  convey 
to  the  spirit.  In  the  individual  work,  the  in- 
spiring and  shaping  idea  seeks  so  to  fuse  its 
material  that  we  feel  the  idea  could  not  have 
been  phrased  in  any  other  way  as  we  surren- 
der to  its  ultimate  appeal,  —  the  sum  of  the 
emotional  content  which  gave  it  birth  and 
in  which  it  reaches  its  fulfillment. 


THE    BACKGROUND    OF    ART 

QCENE:  The  main  hall  of  the  Accademia 
^  in  Venice. 

Time:  Noon  of  a  July  day. 

Dramatis  personae:  A  guide;  two  drab- 
colored  and  tired  men ;  a  group  of  women,  of 
various  ages,  equipped  with  red-covered  little 
volumes,  and  severally  expressive  of  great 
earnestness,  wide-eyed  rapture,  and  giggles. 

'The  guide  y  In  strident ',  accentless  tones :  Last 
work  of  Titian.  Ninety-nine  years  old.  He 
died  of  smallpox. 

A  woman :  Is  that  it  ? 

A  high  voice  on  the  outskirts:  I  'm  going  to 
get  one  for  forty  dollars. 

Another  voice:  Well,  I  'm  not  going  to  pay 
more  than  fifty  for  mine. 

A  straggler:  Eliza,  look  at  those  people. 
Oh,  you  missed  it!  (Stopping  suddenly '.)  My, 
is  n't  that  lovely  ! 

105 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

Chorus :  Yes,  that 's  Paris  Bordone.  Which 
one  is  that  ?  He  has  magnificent  color. 

The  guide:  The  thing  you  want  to  look  at 
is  the  five  figures  in  front. 

A  voice:  Oh,  that 's  beautiful.  I  love  that. 

A  man:  Foreshortened;  well,  I  should  say 
so !  But  I  say,  you  can't  remember  all  these 
pictures. 

The  other  man :  Let 's  get  out  of  this ! 

The  guide,  indicating  a  picture  of  the  Grand 
Canal:  This  one  has  been  restored. 

A  girl's  'voice:  Why,  that's  the  house 
where  we  are  staying! 

The  guide:  The  next  picture  .  .  . 

The  squad  shuffles  out  of  range. 

This  little  comedy,  enacted  in  fact  and 
here  faithfully  reported,  is  not  without  its 
pathos.  These  people  are  '•  studying  art." 
They  really  want  to  understand,  and  if  pos- 
sible, to  enjoy.  They  have  visited  galleries 
and  seen  many  pictures,  and  they  will  visit 
other  galleries  and  see  many  more  pictures 
before  their  return  home.  They  have  read 
guide-books,  noting  the  stars  and  double 

106 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

stars ;  they  have  dipped  into  histories  of  art  and 
volumes  of  criticism.  They  have  been  told 
to  observe  the  dramatic  force  of  Giotto,  the 
line  of  Botticelli,  the  perfect  composition 
of  Raphael,  the  color  of  Titian;  all  this  they 
have  done  punctiliously.  They  know  in  a 
vague  way  that  Giotto  was  much  earlier  than 
Raphael,  that  Botticelli  was  rather  pagan  than 
Christian,  that  Titian  belonged  to  the  Vene- 
tian school.  They  have  come  to  the  fountain 
head  of  art,  the  very  works  themselves  as 
gathered  in  the  galleries;  they  have  tried  to 
remember  what  they  have  read  and  to  do  what 
they  have  been  told ;  and  now  they  are  left 
still  perplexed  and  unsatisfied. 

The 'difficulty  is  that  these  earnest  seekers 
after  knowledge  of  art  have  laid  hold  on  par- 
tial truths,  but  they  have  failed  to  see  these 
partial  truths  in  their  right  relation  to  the 
whole.  The  period  in  which  an  artist  lived 
means  something.  His  way  of  thinking  and 
feeling  means  something.  The  quality  of  his 
color  means  something.  But  what  does  his 
picture  mean  ?  These  people  have  not  quite 
found  the  key  by  which  to  piece  the  frag- 

107 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ments  of  the  puzzle  into  the  complete  desiga 
They  miss  the  central  fact  with  regard  to  art  ; 
and  as  a  consequence,  the  ways  of  approach 
to  the  full  enjoyment  of  art,  instead  of  bring- 
ing them  nearer  the  centre,  become  for  them 
a  net-work  of  by-paths  in  which  they  enmesh 
themselves,  and  they  are  left  to  wander  help- 
lessly up  and  down  and  about  in  the  blind- 
alleys  of  the  labyrinth.  The  central  fact  with 
regard  to  art  is  this,  that  a  work  of  art  is  the 
expression  of  some  part  of  the  artist's  experi- 
ence of  life,  his  vision  of  some  aspect  of  the 
world.  For  the  appreciator,  the  work  takes 
on  a  meaning  as  it  becomes  for  him  in  his 
turn  the  expression  of  his  own  actual  or  pos- 
sible experience  and  thus  relates  itself  by  the 
subtle  links  of  feeling  to  his  own  life.  This 
is  the  central  fact;  but  there  are  side  issues. 
Any  single  work  of  art  is  in  itself  necessarily 
finite.  Because  of  limitations  in  both  the 
artist  and  the  appreciator  the  work  cannot 
express  immediately  and  completely  of  itself 
all  that  the  author  wished  to  convey ;  it  can 
present  but  a  single  facet  of  his  many-sided 
radiating  personality.  What  is  actually  said 

108 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

may  be  reinforced  by  some  understanding  on 
the  beholder's  part  of  what  was  intended.  In 
order  to  win  its  fullest  message,  therefore,  the 
appreciator  must  set  the  work  against  the 
large  background  out  of  which  it  has  pro- 
ceeded. 

A  visitor  in  the  Salon  Carre  of  the  Louvre 
notes  that  there  are  arrayed  before  him  pic- 
tures by  Jan  van  Eyck  and  Memling,  Ra- 
phael and  Leonardo,  Giorgione  and  Titian, 
Rembrandt  and  Metsu,  Rubens  and  Van 
Dyck,  Fouquet  and  Poussin,  Velasquez  and 
Murillo.  Each  one  bears  the  distinctive  im- 
press of  its  creator.  How  different  some  of 
them,  one  from  another, — the  Virgin  of  Van 
Eyck  from  the  Virgin  of  Raphael,  Rem- 
brandt's "Pilgrims  at  Emmaus"  from  the  "En- 
tombment" by  Titian.  Yet  between  others 
there  are  common  elements  of  likeness.  Ra- 
phael and  Titian  are  distinguished  by  an 
opulence  of  form  and  a  luxuriance  of  color 
which  reveal  supreme  technical  accomplish- 
ment in  a  fertile  land  under  light-impreg- 
nated skies.  The  rigidity  and  restraint  of 
Van  Eyck  and  Memling  suggest  the  tenta- 

109 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

tive  early  efforts  of  the  art  of  a  sober  north- 
ern race.  To  a  thoughtful  student  of  these 
pictures  sooner  or  later  the  question  comes, 
Whence  are  these  likenesses  and  these  differ- 
ences ? 

Hitherto  I  have  referred  to  the  creative 
mind  and  executive  hand  as  generically  the 
artist.  I  have  thought  of  him  as  a  type,  repre- 
sentative of  all  the  great  class  of  those  who 
feel  and  express,  and  who  by  means  of  their 
expression  communicate  their  feeling.  Simi- 
larly I  have  spoken  of  the  work  of  art,  as  though 
it  were  complete  in  itself  and  isolated,  sprung 
full-formed  and  panoplied  from  the  brain  of 
its  creator,  able  to  win  its  way  and  consum- 
mate its  destiny  alone.  The  type  is  conceived 
intellectually;  in  actual  life  the  type  resolves 
itself  into  individuals.  So  there  are  indi- 
vidual artists,  each  with  his  own  distinctive 
gifts  and  ideals,  each  with  his  own  separate  ex- 
perience of  life,  with  his  personal  and  special 
vision  of  the  world,  and  his  characteristic 
manner  of  expression.  Similarly,  a  single 
work  of  art  is  not  an  isolated  phenomenon ; 
it  is  only  a  part  of  the  artist's  total  perform- 
no 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

ance,  and  to  these  other  works  it  must  be 
referred.  The  kind  of  work  an  artist  sets 
himself  to  do  is  determined  to  some  extent 
by  the  period  into  which  he  was  born  and 
the  country  in  which  he  lived.  The  artist 
himself,  heir  to  the  achievements  of  his  pre- 
decessors, is  a  development,  and  his  work  is 
the  product  of  an  evolution.  A  work  of  art, 
therefore,  to  be  judged  aright  and  truly  ap- 
preciated, must  be  seen  in  its  relation  to  its 
background,  from  which  it  detaches  itself  at 
the  moment  of  consideration,  —  the  back- 
ground of  the  artist's  personality  and  accom- 
plishment and  of  the  national  life  and  ideals 
of  his  time. 

If  the  layman's  interest  in  art  is  more  than 
the  casual  touch-and-go  of  a  picture  here,  a 
concert  there,  and  an  entertaining  book  of 
an  evening,  he  is  confronted  with  the  im- 
portant matter  of  the  study  of  art  as  it  mani- 
fests itself  through  the  ages  and  in  diverse 
lands.  It  is  not  a  question  of  practicing  an 
art  himself,  for  technical  skill  lies  outside 
his  province.  The  study  of  art  in  the  sense 
proposed  has  to  do  with  the  consideration 

in 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  an  individual  work  in  its  relation  to  all 
the  factors  that  have  entered  into  its  produc- 
tion. The  work  of  an  artist  is  profoundly 
influenced  by  the  national  ideals  and  way  of 
life  of  his  race  and  of  his  age.  The  art  of 
Catholic  Italy  is  ecclesiastical ;  the  art  of  the 
Protestant  North  is  domestic  and  individual. 
The  actual  form  an  artist's  work  assumes  is 
modified  by  the  resources  at  his  disposal,  — 
resources  both  of  material  and  of  technical 
methods.  Raphael  may  have  no  more  to  say 
than  Giotto  had,  but  he  is  able  to  express 
himself  in  a  fuller  and  more  finished  way, 
because  in  his  time  the  language  of  painting 
had  become  richer  and  more  varied  and  the 
rhetoric  of  it  had  been  carried  to  a  farther 
point  of  development.  Finally,  as  all  art  is 
in  essence  the  expression  of  personality,  a 
single  work  is  to  be  understood  in  its  widest 
intention  and  scope  by  reference  to  the  total 
personality  of  the  individual  artist  as  mani- 
fested in  his  work  collectively,  and  to  be 
interpreted  by  the  appreciator  through  his 
knowledge  of  the  artist's  experience  of  life. 
In  order  to  wrest  its  fullest  expressiveness 
112 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

from  a  work  of  art  it  is  necessary  as  far  as 
possible  to  regard  the  work  from  the  artist's 
own  point  of  view.  We  must  try  to  see  with 
his  eyes  and  to  feel  with  him  what  he  was 
working  for.  To  this  end  we  must  recon- 
struct imaginatively  on  a  basis  of  the  facts  the 
conditions  in  which  he  lived  and  wrought. 
The  difference  between  Giotto  and  Raphael 
is  a  difference  not  of  individuality  only.  Each 
gives  expression  to  the  ideals  and  ways  of 
thought  of  his  age.  Each  is  a  creative  mind, 
but  each  bases  his  performance  upon  what 
has  gone  before,  and  the  form  of  their  work 
is  conditioned  by  the  resources  each  had  at 
his  disposal.  To  discover  the  artist's  purpose 
more  completely  than  he  was  able  to  realize 
it  for  himself  in  the  single  work,  —  that  is 
the  aim  and  function  of  the  historical  study 
of  art.  A  brief  review  of  the  achievement 
of  Giotto  and  of  Raphael  may  serve  to  illus- 
trate concretely  the  application  of  the  prin- 
ciple and  to  fix  its  value  to  appreciation. 

In  the  period  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  art  passed  from  Rome  to 
Byzantium.  The  arts  of  sculpture  and  paint- 

"3 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ing  were  employed  in  the  service  of  the 
Church,  imposing  by  its  magnificence  and 
all-powerful  in  its  domination  over  the  lives 
and  minds  of  men.  The  function  of  art  was 
to  teach  ;  its  character  was  symbolic  and 
decorative.  Art  had  no  separate  and  inde- 
pendent existence.  It  had  no  direct  refer- 
ence to  nature;  the  pictorial  representation 
of  individual  traits  was  quite  outside  its  scope; 
a  few  signs  fixed  by  convention  sufficed. 
A  fish  —  derived  from  the  acrostic  ichthus 
—  symbolized  the  Saviour ;  a  cross  was  the 
visible  token  of  redeeming  grace.  And  so 
through  several  hundred  years.  The  twelfth 
century  saw  the  beginnings  of  a  change  in 
the  direction  of  spiritual  and  intellectual 
emancipation.  The  teachings  and  example 
of  Francis  of  Assisi  brought  men  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  themselves  and  to  a  realization 
of  the  worth  and  significance  of  the  indi- 
vidual life.  The  work  of  Giotto  is  the  ex- 
pression in  art  of  the  new  spirit. 

Of  necessity  Giotto  founded  his  work 
upon  the  accepted  forms  of  the  Byzantine 
tradition.  But  Giotto  was  a  man  of  genius 

114 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

and  a  creative  mind.  In  the  expression  of 
his  fresh  impulse  and  vital  feeling,  the  asser- 
tion of  new-found  individuality,  he  tried  to 
realize  as  convincingly  and  vividly  as  possible 
the  situation  with  which  he  was  dealing ; 
and  with  this  purpose  he  looked  not  back 
upon  art  but  out  upon  nature.  Where  the 
Byzantine  convention  had  presented  but  a 
sign  and  remote  indication  of  form  by  means 
of  flat  color,  Giotto  endows  his  figures 
with  life  and  movement  and  actuality  by  giv- 
ing them  a  body  in  three  dimensions ;  his 
forms  exist  in  the  round.  Until  his  day,  light 
and  shade  had  not  been  employed ;  and  such 
perspective  as  he  was  able  to  achieve  he  had 
to  discover  for  himself.  For  the  first  time  in 
Christian  painting  a  figure  has  bodily  exist- 
ence. Giotto  gives  the  first  evidence,  too, 
of  a  sense  of  the  beauty  of  color,  and  of  the 
value  of  movement  as  a  means  of  added 
expressiveness.  His  power  of  composition 
shows  an  immense  advance  on  his  predeces- 
sors. In  dealing  with  traditional  subjects, 
as  the  Madonna  and  child,  he  follows  in 
general  the  traditional  arrangement.  But  in 

"5 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

those  subjects  where  his  own  inventiveness 
is  given  free  play,  as  in  the  series  of  frescoes 
illustrating  the  life  of  St.  Francis,  he  reveals 
an  extraordinary  faculty  of  design  and  a  dra- 
matic sense  which  is  matched  by  a  direct- 
ness and  clarity  of  expression. 

Not  only  in  the  technique  of  his  craft  was 
Giotto  an  innovator,  but  also  in  the  direction 
of  naturalness  and  reality  of  feeling.  He  was 
the  first  to  introduce  portraits  into  his  work. 
His  Madonnas  and  saints  are  no  longer  mere 
types ;  they  are  human  and  individual,  vividly 
felt  and  characterized  by  immediate  and  pre- 
sent actuality.  Giotto  was  the  first  realist, 
but  he  was  a  poet  too.  His  insight  into  life 
is  tempered  by  a  deep  sincerity  and  piety ; 
his  work  is  genuinely  and  powerfully  felt. 
As  a  man  Giotto  was  reverent  and  earnest, 
joyous  and  beautifully  sane.  As  a  painter,  by 
force  of  the  freshness  of  his  impulse  and  the 
clarity  of  his  vision,  he  created  a  new  man- 
ner of  expression.  As  an  artist  he  reveals  a 
true  power  of  imaginative  interpretation. 
The  casual  spectator  of  to-day  finds  him 
naive  and  quaint.  In  the  eyes  of  his  con- 

116 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

temporaries  he  was  anything  but  that ;  they 
regarded  him  as  a  marvel  of  reality,  surpass- 
ing nature  itself.  When  judged  with  refer- 
ence to  the  conditions  of  life  in  which  he 
worked  and  to  the  technical  resources  at  his 
command,  Giotto  is  seen  to  be  of  a  very  high 
order  of  creative  mind. 

The  year  1300  divides  the  life  of  Giotto 
into  two  nearly  equal  parts;  the  year  1500 
similarly  divides  the  life  of  Raphael.  In  the 
two  centuries  that  intervene,  the  great  age  of 
Italian  painting,  initiated  by  Giotto,  reaches 
its  flower  and  perfection  in  Michelangelo, 
Leonardo,  and  Raphael.  The  years  which 
followed  the  passing  of  these  greatnesses  were 
the  years  of  decadence  and  eclipse.  If  we 
are  to  understand  and  justly  appreciate  the 
work  of  each  man  in  its  own  kind,  the  painting 
of  Giotto  must  be  tried  by  other  standards 
than  those  we  apply  to  the  judgment  of  Ra- 
phael. Giotto  was  a  pioneer ;  Raphael  is  a 
consummation.  The  two  centuries  between 
were  a  period  of  development  and  change,  a 
development  in  all  that  regards  technique, 
a  change  in  national  ideals  and  in  the  artist's 

117 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

attitude  toward  life  and  toward  his  art.  A 
quick  survey  of  the  period,  if  so  hasty  a  gen- 
eralization permits  correctness  of  statement, 
will  help  us  in  the  understanding  of  the  craft 
and  art  of  Raphael. 

Giotto  was  succeeded  by  a  host  of  lesser 
men,  regarded  as  his  followers,  men  who 
sought  to  apply  the  principles  and  methods 
of  painting  worked  out  by  the  master,  but 
who  lacked  his  inspiration  and  his  power. 
Thus  it  was  for  nearly  a  hundred  years.  The 
turn  of  the  fourteenth  century  into  the  fif- 
teenth saw  the  emergence  of  new  forces  in 
the  science  and  the  mechanics  of  painting. 
The  laws  of  perspective  and  foreshortening 
were  made  the  object  of  special  research  and 
practice  by  men  like  Uccello  (1397—1475), 
Piero  dei  Franceschi  (141 6-1 492),  and  Man- 
tegna  (1431—1506).  "  Oh,  what  a  beautiful 
thing  this  perspective  is ! "  Uccello  ex- 
claimed, as  he  stood  at  his  desk  between  mid- 
night and  dawn  while  his  wife  begged  him 
to  take  some  rest.  In  the  first  thirty  years  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  Masaccio  contributed 
to  the  knowledge  of  anatomy  by  his  painting 

118 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

of  the  nude  form ;  and  the  study  of  the  nude 
was  continued  by  Pollaiuolo  and  Luca  Sig- 
norelli,  in  the  second  half  of  the  century. 
Masaccio,  also,  was  the  first  to  place  his  fig- 
ures in  air,  enveloping  them  in  atmosphere. 
Verrocchio,  a  generation  later  than  Masac- 
cio, was  one  of  the  first  of  the  Florentines 
to  understand  landscape  and  the  part  played 
in  it  by  air  and  light.  The  realistic  spirit, 
which  suffices  itself  with  subjects  drawn  from 
every-day  actual  experience,  finds  expression 
in  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth  century  in  the 
work  of  Andrea  del  Castagno.  And  so  down 
through  that  century  of  spring  and  summer. 
Each  painter  in  his  own  way  carries  some  de- 
tail of  his  craft  to  a  further  point  of  develop- 
ment and  prepares  the  path  for  the  supreme 
triumphs  of  Michelangelo,  Leonardo,  and 
Raphael. 

The  growing  mastery  of  the  principles 
and  technique  of  painting  accompanied  a 
change  in  the  painter's  attitude  toward  his 
art.  Originally,  painting,  applied  in  subjec- 
tion to  architecture  and  employed  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Church,  was  decorative  in  scope  ; 

119 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

its  purpose  was  illustration,  its  function  was 
to  teach.  As  painters,  from  generation  to 
generation,  went  deeper  into  the  secrets  of 
their  craft,  they  became  less  interested  in  the 
didactic  import  of  their  work,  and  they  con- 
cerned themselves  more  and  more  with  its 
purely  artistic  significance.  Religious  sub- 
jects were  no  longer  used  merely  as  symbols 
for  the  expression  of  piety  and  as  incitements 
to  devotion ;  they  became  inherently  artis- 
tic motives,  valued  as  they  furnished  the  artist 
an  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his  know- 
ledge and  skill  and  for  the  exhibition  of 
lovely  color  and  significant  form.  A  change 
in  the  mechanical  methods  of  painting,  also, 
had  its  influence  on  a  change  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  function  of  art.  With  a  very 
few  exceptions,  the  works  of  Giotto  were 
executed  in  fresco  as  wall  decorations.  The 
principles  of  mural  painting  require  that 
the  composition  shall  be  subordinated  to  the 
architectural  conditions  of  the  space  it  is  to 
fill  and  that  the  color  shall  be  kept  flat.  The 
fresco  method  meets  these  requirements  ad- 
mirably, but  because  of  its  flatness  it  has  its 

1 20 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

limitations.  The  introduction  of  an  oil  vehi- 
cle for  the  pigment  material,  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  made  possible  a  much  greater  range 
in  gradated  color,  and  reinforcing  the  in- 
creased knowledge  of  light  and  shade,  aided 
in  the  evolution  of  decoration  into  the  "easel 
picture,"  complete  in  itself.  Released  from 
its  subjection  to  architecture,  increasing  its 
technical  resources,  and  widening  its  interests 
in  the  matter  of  subject  so  as  to  include  all 
life,  painting  becomes  an  independent  and 
self-sufficing  art. 

Coincident  with  the  development  of  paint- 
ing as  a  craft,  a  mighty  change  was  working 
itself  out  in  the  national  ideals  and  in  men's 
ways  of  thought  and  feeling.  Already  in 
Giotto's  time  the  spirit  of  individualism  had 
begun  to  assert  itself  in  reaction  from  the 
dominance  of  an  all-powerful  restrictive  ec- 
clesiasticism,  but  the  age  was  still  essentially 
pietistic  and  according  to  its  lights,  religious. 
The  fifteenth  century  witnessed  the  eman- 
cipation from  tradition.  The  new  human- 
ism, which  took  its  rise  with  the  rediscovery 
of  Greek  culture,  extended  the  intellectual 

121 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

horizon  and  intensified  the  enthusiasm  for 
beauty.  Men's  interest  in  life  was  no  longer 
narrowly  religious,  but  human ;  their  art  be- 
came the  expression  of  the  new  spirit.  Early 
Christianity  had  been  ascetic,  enjoining  nega- 
tion of  life  and  the  mortification  of  the  flesh. 
The  men  of  the  Renaissance, with  something 
of  the  feeling  of  the  elder  Greeks,  glorified 
the  body  and  delighted  in  the  pride  of  life. 
Pagan  myths  and  Greek  legends  take  their 
place  alongside  of  Bible  episodes  and  stories 
of  saints  and  martyrs,  as  subjects  of  represen- 
tation ;  all  served  equally  as  motives  for  the 
expression  of  the  artist's  sense  of  the  beauty 
of  this  world. 

To  this  new  culture  and  to  these  two  cen- 
turies of  growth  and  accomplishment  in  the 
practice  of  painting  Raphael  was  heir.  With 
a  knowledge  of  the  background  out  of  which 
he  emerges,  we  are  prepared  now  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate  his  individual  achieve- 
ment. In  approaching  the  study  of  his  work 
we  may  ask,  What  is  in  general  his  ideal, 
his  dominant  motive,  and  in  what  manner 
and  by  what  means  has  he  realized  his  ideal  ? 

122 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

How  much  was  already  prepared  for  him, 
what  does  he  owe  to  the  age  and  the  condi- 
tions in  which  he  worked,  and  what  to  the 
common  store  has  he  added  that  is  peculiarly 
his  own  ? 

Whereas  Giotto,  the  shepherd  boy,  was  a 
pioneer,  almost  solitary,  by  sheer  force  of 
mind  and  by  his  sincerity  and  intensity  of 
feeling  breaking  new  paths  to  expression,  for 
Raphael,  on  the  contrary,  the  son  of  a  painter 
and  poet,  the  fellow- worker  and  well-beloved 
friend  of  many  of  the  most  powerful  artistic 
personalities  of  his  own  or  any  age,  the  way 
was  already  prepared  along  which  he  moved 
in  triumphant  progress.  The  life  of  Raphael 
as  an  artist  extends  through  three  well-defined 
periods,  the  Umbrian,  the  Florentine,  and  the 
Roman,  each  one  of  which  contributed  a  dis- 
tinctive influence  upon  his  development  and 
witnessed  a  special  and  characteristic  achieve- 
ment. 

To  his  father,  who  died  when  the  boy  was 
eleven  years  old,  Raphael  owed  his  poetic 
nature,  scholarly  tastes,  and  love  of  beauty, 
though  he  probably  received  from  him  no 

123 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

training  as  a  painter.  His  first  master  was 
Timoteo  Viti  of  Urbino,  a  pupil  of  Francia; 
from  him  he  learned  drawing  and  acquired 
a  "certain  predilection  for  round  and  opu- 
lent forms  which  is  in  itself  the  negation  of 
the  ascetic  ideal."  At  the  age  of  seventeen 
he  went  from  Urbino  to  Perugia ;  there  he 
entered  the  workshop  of  Perugino  as  an 
assistant.  The  ideal  of  the  Umbrian  school 
was  tenderness  and  sweetness,  the  outward 
and  visible  rapture  of  pietistic  feeling;  some- 
thing of  these  qualities  Raphael  expressed  in 
his  Madonnas  throughout  his  career.  Under 
the  teaching  of  Perugino  he  laid  hold  on  the 
principles  of  "space  composition"  which 
he  was  afterwards  to  carry  to  supreme  per- 
fection. 

From  Perugia  the  young  Raphael  made 
his  way  to  Florence,  and  here  he  underwent 
many  influences.  At  that  moment  Florence 
was  the  capital  city  of  Italian  culture.  It 
was  here  that  the  new  humanism  had  come 
to  finest  flower.  Scholarship  was  the  fashion ; 
art  was  the  chief  interest  of  this  beauty-lov- 
ing people.  It  was  the  Florentines  who  had 

124 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

carried  the  scientific  principles  of  painting  to 
their  highest  point  of  development,  particu- 
larly in  their  application  to  the  rendering  of 
the  human  figure.  In  Florence  were  col- 
lected the  art  treasures  of  the  splendid  cen- 
tury; here  Michelangelo  and  Leonardo  were 
at  work ;  here  were  gathered  companies  of 
lesser  men.  By  the  study  of  Masaccio  Raphael 
was  led  out  to  a  fresh  contact  with  nature.  Fra 
Bartolomeo  revealed  to  him  further  possibil- 
ities of  composition  and  taught  him  some 
of  the  secrets  of  color.  In  Florence,  too,  he 
acknowledged  the  spell  of  Michelangelo  and 
Leonardo.  But  though  he  learned  from 
many  teachers,  Raphael  was  never  merely  an 
imitator.  His  scholarship  and  his  skill  he 
turned  to  his  own  uses ;  and  when  we  have 
traced  the  sources  of  his  motives  and  the 
influences  in  the  moulding  of  his  manner, 
there  emerges  out  of  the  fusion  a  creative 
new  force,  which  is  his  genius.  What  re- 
mains after  our  analysis  is  the  essential  Ra- 
phael. 

Raphael's   residence  in   Florence  is  the 
period  of  his  Madonnas.     From  Florence 

125 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

Raphael,  twenty-five  years  old  and  now  a 
master  in  his  own  right,  was  summoned  to 
Rome  by  Pope  Julius  II ;  and  here  he 
placed  his  talents  and  his  mastership  at  the 
disposal  of  the  Church.  He  found  time  to 
paint  Madonnas  and  a  series  of  powerful  and 
lovely  portraits ;  but  these  years  in  Rome, 
which  brought  his  brief  life  to  a  close,  are 
preeminently  the  period  of  the  great  fres- 
coes, which  are  his  supreme  achievement. 
But  even  in  these  mature  years,  and  though 
he  was  himself  the  founder  of  a  school,  he 
did  not  cease  to  learn.  Michelangelo  was 
already  in  Rome,  and  now  Raphael  came 
more  immediately  under  his  influence,  al- 
though not  to  submit  to  it  but  to  use  it  for 
his  own  ends.  In  Rome  were  revealed  to 
him  the  culture  of  an  older  and  riper  civil- 
ization and  the  glories  and  perfectness  of 
an  elder  art.  Raphael  laid  antiquity  under 
contribution  to  the  consummation  of  his  art 
and  the  fulfillment  and  complete  realization 
of  his  genius. 

This  analysis  of  the  elements  and  influ- 
ences of  Raphael's  career  as  an  artist — in- 

126 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

adequate  as  it  necessarily  is  —  may  help  us 
to  define  his  distinctive  accomplishment.  A 
comparison  of  his  work  with  that  of  his  pre- 
decessors and  contemporaries  serves  to  dis- 
engage his  essential  significance.  By  nature 
he  was  generous  and  tender ;  the  bent  of 
his  mind  was  scholarly ;  and  he  was  im- 
pelled by  a  passion  for  restrained  and  for- 
mal beauty.  Chiefly  characteristic  of  his 
mental  make-up  was  his  power  of  assimila- 
tion, which  allowed  him  to  respond  to  many 
and  diverse  influences  and  in  the  end  to  dom- 
inate and  use  them.  He  gathered  up  in  him- 
self the  achievements  of  two  centuries  of 
experiment  and  progress,  and  fusing  the  va- 
rious elements,  he  created  by  force  of  his 
genius  a  new  result  and  stamped  it  with  the 
seal  perfection.  Giotto,  to  whom  religion 
was  a  reality,  was  deeply  in  earnest  about 
his  message,  and  he  phrased  it  as  best  he 
could  with  the  means  at  his  command ;  his 
end  was  expression.  Raphael,  under  the  pat- 
ronage of  wealthy  dilettanti  and  in  the  ser- 
vice of  a  worldly  and  splendor-loving  Church, 
delighted  in  his  knowledge  and  his  skill ;  he 

127 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

worshiped  art,  and  his  end  was  beauty.  The 
genius  of  Giotto  is  a  first  shoot,  vigorous 
and  alive,  breaking  ground  hardily,  and  ten- 
tatively pushing  into  freer  air.  The  genius 
of  Raphael  is  the  full-blown  flower  and  final 
fruit,  complete,  mature.  The  step  beyond  is 
decay. 

By  reference  to  Giotto  and  to  Raphael  I 
have  tried  to  illustrate  the  practical  applica- 
tion of  certain  principles  of  art  study.  A 
work  of  art  is  not  absolute  ;  both  its  content 
and  its  form  are  determined  by  the  condi- 
tions out  of  which  it  proceeds.  All  judg- 
ment, therefore,  must  be  comparative,  and 
a  work  of  art  must  be  considered  in  its  re- 
lation to  its  background  and  its  conventions. 
Art  is  an  interpretation  of  some  aspect  of 
life  as  the  artist  has  felt  it ;  and  the  artist 
is  a  child  of  his  time.  It  is  not  an  accident 
that  Raphael  portrayed  Madonnas,  serene  and 
glorified,  and  Millet  pictured  rude  peasants 
bent  with  toil.  Raphael's  painting  is  the 
culmination  of  two  centuries  of  eager  striv- 
ing after  the  adequate  expression  of  religious 
sentiment ;  in  Millet's  work  the  realism  of 

128 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

his  age  is  transfigured.  As  showing  further 
how  national  ideals  and  interests  may  influ- 
ence individual  production,  we  may  note 
that  the  characteristic  art  of  the  Italian  Re- 
naissance is  painting  ;  and  Italian  sculpture 
of  the  period  is  pictorial  rather  than  plastic 
in  motive  and  handling.  Ghiberti's  doors 
of  the  Florence  Baptistery,  in  the  grouping 
of  figures  and  the  three  and  four  planes  in 
perspective  of  the  backgrounds,  are  essen- 
tially pictures  in  bronze.  Conversely,  in  the 
North  the  characteristic  art  of  the  thirteenth 
and  fourteenth  centuries  is  carving  and 
sculpture ;  and  "  the  early  painters  repre- 
sented in  their  pictures  what  they  were  fa- 
miliar with  in  wood  and  stone  ;  so  that  not 
only  are  the  figures  dry  and  hard,  but  in  the 
groups  they  are  packed  one  behind  another, 
heads  above  heads,  without  really  occupying 
space,  in  imitation  of  the  method  adopted 
in  the  carved  relief."  Some  knowledge  of 
the  origin  and  development  of  a  given  form 
of  technique,  a  knowledge  to  be  reached 
through  historical  study,  enables  us  to  mea- 
sure the  degree  of  expressiveness  of  a  given 

129 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

work.  The  ideas  of  a  child  may  be  very 
well  worth  listening  to,  though  his  range  of 
words  is  limited  and  his  sentences  are  crude 
and  halting.  A  grown  man,  having  acquired 
the  trick  of  language,  may  talk  fluently  and 
say  nothing.  In  our  endeavor  to  understand 
a  work  of  art,  a  poem  by  Chaucer  or  by  Ten- 
nyson, a  picture  by  Greco  or  by  Manet,  a 
prelude  by  Bach  or  a  symphony  by  Brahms, 
we  may  ask,  Of  that  which  the  artist  wanted 
to  say,  how  much  could  he  say  with  the 
means  at  his  disposal  ?  With  a  sense  of  the 
artist's  larger  motive,  whether  religious  sen- 
timent, or  a  love  of  sheer  beauty  of  color  and 
form,  or  insight  into  human  character,  we 
are  aided  by  a  study  of  the  history  of  tech- 
nique to  determine  how  far  the  artist  with 
the  language  at  his  command  was  able  to 
realize  his  intention. 

But  not  only  is  art  inspired  and  directed  by 
the  time-spirit  of  its  age.  A  single  work  is 
the  expression  for  the  artist  who  creates  it 
of  his  ideal.  An  artist's  ideal,  what  he  sets 
himself  to  accomplish,  is  the  projection  of 
his  personality,  and  that  is  determined  by 

130 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

many  influences.  He  is  first  of  all  a  child  of 
his  race  and  time  ;  inheritance  and  training 
shape  him  to  these  larger  conditions.  Then 
his  ideal  is  modified  by  his  special  individ- 
uality. A  study  of  the  artist's  character  as 
revealed  in  his  biography  leads  to  a  fuller 
understanding  of  the  intention  and  scope  of 
his  work.  The  events  of  his  life  become  sig- 
nificant as  they  are  seen  to  be  the  causes  or 
the  results  of  his  total  personality,  that  which 
he  was  in  mind  and  temperament.  What  were 
the  circumstances  that  moulded  his  character 
and  decided  his  course  ?  What  events  did  he 
shape  to  his  own  purpose  by  the  active  force 
of  his  genius?  What  was  the  special  angle  of 
vision  from  which  he  looked  upon  the  world  ? 
The  answers  to  these  questions  are  the  clue 
to  the  full  drift  of  his  work.  As  style  is  the 
expression  of  the  man,  so  conversely  a  know- 
ledge of  the  man  is  an  entrance  into  the  wider 
and  subtler  implications  of  his  style.  We 
explore  the  personality  of  the  man  in  order 
more  amply  to  interpret  his  art,  and  we  turn 
to  his  art  as  the  revelation  of  his  personality. 
In  studying  an  artist  we  must  look  for  his  ten- 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

dency  and  seek  the  unifying  principle  which 
binds  his  separate  works  into  a  whole.  An 
artist  has  his  successive  periods  or  "  manners." 
There  is  the  period  of  apprenticeship,  when 
the  young  man  is  influenced  by  his  prede- 
cessors and  his  masters.  Then  he  comes  into 
his  own,  and  he  registers  nature  and  life  as 
he  sees  it  freshly  for  himself.  Finally,  as  he 
has  mastered  his  art  and  won  some  of  the 
secrets  of  nature,  and  as  his  own  character  de- 
velops, he  tends  more  and  more  to  impose  his 
subjective  vision  upon  the  world,  and  he  sub- 
ordinates nature  to  the  expression  of  his  dis- 
tinctive individuality.  A  single  work,  there- 
fore, is  to  be  considered  in  relation  to  its  place 
in  the  artist's  development;  it  is  but  a  part, 
and  it  is  to  be  interpreted  by  reference  to  the 
whole. 

In  the  study  of  biography,  however,  the 
man  must  not  be  mistaken  for  the  artist ;  his 
acts  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  his  mes- 
sage. "  A  man  is  the  spirit  he  worked  in ;  not 
what  he  did,  but  what  he  became."  We  must 
summon  forth  the  spirit  of  the  man  from 
within  the  wrappages  of  material  and  acci- 

132 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

dent.  In  our  preoccupation  with  the  external 
details  of  a  man's  familiar  and  daily  life  it  is 
easy  to  lose  sight  of  his  spiritual  experience, 
which  only  is  of  significance.  Whistler,  vain, 
aggressive,  quarrelsome,  and  yet  so  exquisite 
and  so  subtle  in  extreme  refinement,  is  a 
notable  example  of  a  great  spirit  and  a  little 
man.  Wagner  wrote  to  Liszt:  "As  I  have 
never  felt  the  real  bliss  of  love,  I  must  erect 
a  monument  to  the  most  beautiful  of  my 
dreams,  in  which  from  beginning  to  end  that 
love  shall  be  thoroughly  satiated."  Not  the 
Wagner  of  fact,  but  the  Wagner  of  dreams. 
Life  lived  in  the  spirit  and  imagination  may 
be  different  from  the  life  of  daily  act.  So  we 
should  transcend  the  material,  trying  through 
that  to  penetrate  to  the  spiritual.  It  is  not  a 
visit  to  the  artist's  birthplace  that  signifies, 
it  is  not  to  do  reverence  before  his  likeness 
or  cherish  a  bit  of  his  handwriting.  All  this 
may  have  a  value  to  the  disciple  as  a  matter 
of  loyalty  and  fine  piety.  But  in  the  end  we 
must  go  beyond  these  externals  that  we  may 
enter  intelligently  and  sympathetically  into 
the  temper  of  his  mind  and  mood  and  there 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

find  disclosed  what  he  thought  and  felt  and 
was  able  only  in  part  to  express.  It  is  not  the 
man  his  neighbors  knew  that  is  important. 
His  work  is  the  essential  thing,  what  that 
work  has  to  tell  us  about  life  in  terms  of 
emotional  experience. 

Studies  in  the  history  of  art  and  in  bio- 
graphy are  avenues  of  approach  to  the  un- 
derstanding of  a  work  of  art ;  they  do  not 
in  themselves  constitute  appreciation.  His- 
torical importance  must  not  be  mistaken  for 
artistic  significance.  In  reading  about  pic- 
tures we  may  forget  to  look  at  them.  The 
historical  study  of  art  in  its  various  divisions 
reduces  itself  to  an  exercise  in  analysis,  resolv- 
ing a  given  work  into  its  elements.  But  art 
is  a  synthesis.  In  order  to  appreciate  a  work 
the  elements  must  be  gathered  together  and 
fused  into  a  whole.  A  statue  or  a  picture  is 
meant  not  to  be  read  about,  but  to  be  looked 
at ;  and  its  final  message  must  be  received 
through  vision.  Our  knowledge  will  serve  us 
little  if  we  are  not  sensitive  to  the  appeal  of 
color  and  form.  There  is  danger  that  pre- 
occupation with  the  history  of  art  may  betray 

134 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  ART 

us  if  we  are  not  careful  to  keep  it  in  its  place. 
The  study  of  art  should  follow  and  not  lead 
appreciation.  We  are  apt  to  see  what  we  are 
looking  for.  So  we  ought  to  come  to  each 
work  freshly  without  prejudice  or  bias  ;  it  is 
only  afterwards  that  we  should  bring  to  bear 
on  it  our  knowledge  about  the  facts  of  its 
production.  Connoisseurship  is  a  science  and 
may  hold  within  itself  no  element  of  aesthetic 
enjoyment.  Appreciation  is  an  art,  and  the 
quality  of  it  depends  upon  the  appreciator 
himself.  The  end  of  historical  study  is  not 
a  knowledge  of  facts  for  their  own  sake,  but 
through  those  facts  a  deeper  penetration  and 
fuller  true  enjoyment.  By  the  aid  of  such 
knowledge  we  are  enabled  to  recognize  in 
any  work  more  certainly  and  abundantly  the 
expression  of  an  emotional  experience  which 
relates  itself  to  our  own  life. 

The  final  meaning  of  art  to  the  appreciator 
lies  in  just  this  sense  of  its  relation  to  his  own 
experience.  The  greatest  works  are  those 
which  express  reality  and  life,  not  limited 
and  temporary  conditions,  but  life  universal 
and  for  all  time.  Without  commentary  these 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

carry  their  message,  appealing  to  the  wisest 
and  the  humblest.  Gather  into  a  single  room 
a  fragment  of  the  Parthenon  frieze,  Mi- 
chelangelo's "  Day  and  Night,"  Botticelli's 
"Spring,"  the  sprites  and  children  of  Dona- 
tello  and  Delia  Robbia,  Velasquez's  "  Pope 
Innocent,"  Rembrandt's  "  Cloth-weavers," 
Frans  Hals'  "  Musician,"  Millet's  "  Sower," 
Whistler's  "  Carlyle."  There  is  here  no 
thought  of  period  or  of  school.  These  liv- 
ing, present,  eternal  verities  are  all  one  com- 
pany. 


VI 

THE    SERVICE    OF    CRITICISM 

THE  greatest  art  is  universal.  It  tran- 
scends the  merely  local  conditions  in 
which  it  is  produced.  It  sweeps  beyond  the 
individual  personality  of  its  creator,  and  links 
itself  with  the  common  experience  of  all  men. 
The  Parthenon,  so  far  as  it  can  be  recon- 
structed in  imagination,  appeals  to  a  man  of 
any  race  or  any  period,  whatever  his  habit  of 
mind  or  degree  of  culture,  as  a  perfect  utter- 
ance. The  narrow  vault  of  the  Sistine  Chapel 
opens  into  immensity,  and  every  one  who 
looks  upon  it  is  lifted  out  of  himself  into  new 
worlds.  Shakespeare's  plays  were  enjoyed  by 
the  apprentices  in  the  pit  and  royalty  in  the 
boxes,  and  so  all  the  way  between.  The  man 
Shakespeare,  of  such  and  such  birth  and  train- 
ing, and  of  this  or  that  experience  in  life,  is 
entirely  merged  in  his  creations ;  he  becomes 
the  impersonal  channel  of  expression  of  the 

137 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

profoundest,  widest  interpretation  of  life  the 
world  has  known.  Such  art  as  this  comes 
closest  to  the  earth  and  extends  farthest  into 
infinity,  "  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls." 

But  there  is  another  order  of  art,  more  im- 
mediately the  product  of  local  conditions,  the 
personal  expression  of  a  distinctive  individ- 
uality, phrased  in  a  language  of  less  scope  and 
currency,  and  limited  as  to  its  content  in  the 
range  of  its  appeal.  These  lesser  works  have 
their  place  ;  they  can  minister  to  us  in  some 
moment  of  need  and  at  some  point  in  our 
development.  Because  of  their  limitations, 
however,  their  effectiveness  can  be  furthered 
by  interpretation.  A  man  more  sensitive  than 
we  to  the  special  kind  of  beauty  which  they 
embody  and  better  versed  in  their  language, 
can  discover  to  us  a  significance  and  a  charm 
in  them  to  which  we  have  not  penetrated. 
To  help  us  to  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  the 

eat  things  and  to  a  more  enlightened  and 
juster  appreciation  of  the  lesser  works  is  the 
service  of  criticism. 

We  do  not  wholly  possess  an  experience 
until,  having  merged  ourselves  in  it,  we  then 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

react  upon  it  and  become  conscious  of  its 
significance.  A  novel,  a  play,  a  picture  in- 
terests us,  and  we  surrender  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  moment.  Afterwards  we  think  about 
our  pleasure,  defining  the  nature  of  the  ex- 
perience and  analyzing  the  means  by  which 
it  was  produced,  the  subject  of  the  work  and 
the  artist's  method  of  treating  it.  It  may  be 
that  we  tell  our  pleasure  to  a  friend,  glad  also 
perhaps  to  hear  his  opinion  of  the  matter. 
The  impulse  is  natural;  the  practice  is  help- 
ful. And  herein  lies  the  origin  of  criticism. 
In  so  far  as  an  appreciator  does  not  rest  in 
his  immediate  enjoyment  of  a  work  of  art, 
but  seeks  to  account  for  his  pleasure,  to  trace 
the  sources  of  it,  to  establish  the  reasons  for 
it,  and  to  define  its  quality,  so  far  he  becomes 
a  critic.  As  every  man  who  perceives  beauty 
in  nature  and  takes  it  up  into  his  own  life  is 
potentially  an  artist,  so  every  man  is  a  critic 
in  the  measure  that  he  reasons  about  his  en- 
joyment. The  critical  processes,  therefore, 
are  an  essential  part  of  our  total  experience  of  , 
art,  and  criticism  may  be  an  aid  to  apprecia-  I 
tion. 

139 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  function  of  criticism  has  been  vari- 
ously understood  through  the  centuries  of  its 
practice.  Early  modern  criticism,  harking 
back  to  the  method  of  Aristotle,  concerned 
itself  with  the  form  of  a  work  of  art.  From 
the  usage  of  classic  writers  it  deduced  cer- 
tain "rules"  of  composition;  these  formulas 
were  applied  to  the  work  under  examination, 
and  that  was  adjudged  good  or  bad  in  the 
degree  that  it  conformed  or  failed  to  con- 
form to  the  established  rules.  It  was  a  criti- 
cism of  law-giving  and  of  judgment.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  criticism  extended  its 
scope  by  the  admission  of  a  new  considera- 
tion, passing  beyond  the  mere  form  of  the 
work  and  reckoning  with  its  power  to  give 
pleasure.  Addison,  in  his  critique  of  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  still  applies  the  formal  tests  of 
the  Aristotelian  canons,  but  he  discovers  fur- 
ther that  a  work  of  art  exists  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  its  form,  but  also  for  the  expression 
of  beautiful  ideas.  This  power  of"  affecting 
the  imagination  "  he  declares  is  the  "  very 
life  and  highest  perfection"  of  poetry.  This 
is  a  long  step  in  the  right  direction.  With 

140 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

the  nineteenth  century,  criticism  conceives 
its  aims  and  procedure  in  new  and  larger 
ways.  A  work  of  art  is  now  seen  to  be  an 
evolution ;  and  criticism  adapts  to  its  own 
uses  the  principles  of  historical  study  and 
the  methods  of  scientific  investigation.  Re- 
cognizing that  art  is  organic,  that  an  art- 
form,  as  religious  painting  or  Gothic  archi- 
tecture or  the  novel,  is  born,  develops,  comes 
to  maturity,  lapses,  and  dies,  that  an  indi- 
vidual work  is  the  product  of  "  race,  envi- 
ronment, and  the  moment,"  that  it  is  the 
expression  also  of  the  personality  of  the  art- 
ist himself,  criticism  no  longer  regards  the 
single  work  as  an  isolated  phenomenon,  but 
tries  to  see  it  in  its  relation  to  its  total  back- 
ground. 

Present-day  criticism  avails  itself  of  this 
larger  outlook  upon  art.  But  the  ends  to  be 
reached  are  understood  differently  by  dif- 
ferent critics.  With  M.  Brunetiere,  to  cite 
now  a  few  representative  names,  criticism  is 
authoritative  and  dogmatic :  he  looks  at  the 
work  objectively,  refusing  to  be  the  dupe  of 
his  pleasure,  if  he  has  any  ;  and  approaching 

141 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

the  work  in  the  spirit  of  dispassionate  imper- 
sonal inquiry  as  an  object  of  historical  im- 
portance and  scientific  interest,  he  decrees 
that  it  is  good  or  bad.  Matthew  Arnold  con- 
siders literature  a  "criticism  of  life,"  and  he 
values  a  work  with  reference  to  the  moral 
significance  of  its  ideas.  Ruskin's  criticism 
is  didactic  ;  he  wishes  to  educate  his  public, 
and  by  force  of  his  torrential  eloquence  he 
succeeds  in  persuading  his  disciples  into  ac- 
ceptance of  his  teaching,  though  he  may  not 
always  convince.  Impressionistic  criticism, 
as  with  M.  Anatole  France  or  M.  Jules  Le- 
maitre,  does  not  even  try  to  see  the  work, 
"  as  in  itself  it  really  is,"  but  is  an  account 
of  the  critic's  own  subjective  reaction  on  it, 
a  narrative  of  what  he  thought  and  felt  in  this 
chance  corner  of  experience.  With  Walter 
Pater  criticism  becomes  appreciation.  A  given 
work  of  art  produces  a  distinctive  impression 
and  communicates  a  special  and  unique  plea- 
sure ;  this  active  power  constitutes  its  beauty. 
So  the  function  of  the  critic  as  Pater  con- 
ceives it  is  "to  distinguish, analyze, and  sepa- 
rate from  its  adjuncts,  the  virtue  by  which  a 

142      . 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM' 

picture,  a  landscape,  a  fair  personality  in  life 
or  in  a  book,  produces  this  special  impres- 
sion of  beauty  or  pleasure,  to  indicate  what 
the  source  of  that  impression  is,  and  under 
what  conditions  it  is  experienced.' *  The 
interpretative  critic  —  represented  in  the 
practice  of  Pater  —  stands  between  a  work 
of  art  and  the  appreciator  as  mediator  and\ 
revealer. 

Each  kind  of  criticism  performs  a  certain 
office,  and  is  of  use  within  its  own  chosen 
sphere.  To  the  layman,  for  his  purposes  of 
appreciation,  that  order  of  criticism  will  be 
most  helpful  which  responds  most  closely 
and  amply  to  his  peculiar  needs.  A  work  of 
art  may  be  regarded  under  several  aspects, 
its  quality  of  technical  execution,  its  power 
of  sensuous  appeal,  its  historical  importance ; 
and  to  each  one  of  these  aspects  some  kind 
of  criticism  applies.  The  layman's  reception 
of  art  includes  all  these  considerations,  but 
subordinates  them  to  the  total  experience. 
His  concern,  therefore,  is  to  define  the  service 
of  criticism  to  appreciation. 

The  analysis  of  a  work  of  art  resolves  it 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

into  these  elements.  There  is  first  of  all  the 
emotion  which  gives  birth  to  the  work  and 
which  the  work  is  designed  to  express.  The 
emotion,  to  become  definite,  gathers  about 
an  idea,  conceived  in  the  terms  of  its  own 
medium,  as  form,  or  color  and  mass,  or  mu- 
sical relations;  and  this  artistic  idea  presents 
itself  as  the  subject  or  motive  of  the  work. 
The  emotion  and  artistic  idea,  in  order  that 
they  may  be  expressed  and  become  communi- 
cable, embody  themselves  in  material,  as  the 
marble  of  a  statue,  the  pigment  of  a  picture, 
the  audible  tones  of  a  musical  composition. 
This  material  form  has  the  power  to  satisfy 
the  mind  and  delight  the  senses.  Through 
the  channel  of  the  senses  and  the  mind  the 
work  reaches  the  feelings ;  and  the  aesthetic 
experience  is  complete. 

As  art  springs  out  of  emotion,  so  it  is  to 
be  received  as  emotion;  and  a  work  to  be 
appreciated  in  its  true  spirit  must  be  enjoyed. 
But  to  be  completely  enjoyed  it  must  be  un- 
derstood. We  must  know  what  the  artist  was 
trying  to  express,  and  we  must  be  able  to  read 
his  language ;  then  we  are  prepared  to  take 

144 


delight  in  the  form  and  to  respond  to  the 
emotion. 

To  help  us  to  understand  a  work  of  art  in 
all  the  components  that  entered  into  the 
making  of  it  is  the  function  of  historical 
study.  Such  study  enables  us  to  see  the  work 
from  the  artist's  own  point  of  view.  A  know- 
ledge of  its  background,  the  conditions  in 
which  the  artist  wrought  and  his  own  atti- 
tude toward  life,  is  the  clue  to  his  ideal; 
and  by  an  understanding  of  the  language  it 
was  possible  for  him  to  employ,  we  can  mea- 
sure the  degree  of  expressiveness  he  was  able 
to  achieve.  This  study  of  the  artist's  purpose 
and  of  his  methods  is  an  exercise  in  expla- 
nation. 

The  interpretation  of  art,  for  which  we 
look  to  criticism,  deals  with  the  picture,  the 
statue,  the  book,  specifically  in  its  relation  to 
the  appreciator.  What  is  the  special  nature 
of  the  experience  which  the  work  commu- 
nicates to  us  in  terms  of  feeling?  In  so  far  as 
the  medium  itself  is  a  source  of  pleasure,  by 
what  qualities  of  form  has  the  work  realized 
the  conditions  of  beauty  proper  to  it,  delight" 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ing  thus  the  senses  and  satisfying  the  mind? 
These  are  the  questions  which  the  critic,  in- 
terpreting the  work  through  the  medium  of 
his  own  temperament,  seeks  to  answer. 

Theoretically,  the  best  critic  of  art  would 
be  the  artist  himself.  He  above  all  other  men 
should  understand  the  subtle  play  of  emo- 
tion and  thought  in  which  a  work  of  art  is 
conceived ;  and  the  artist  rather  than  another 
should  trace  the  intricacies  and  know  the 
cunning  of  the  magician  processes  by  which 
the  immaterial  idea  builds  itself  into  visible 
actuality.  In  practice,  however,  the  theory 
is  not  borne  out  by  the  fact.  The  artist  as 
such  is  very  little  conscious  of  the  workings 
of  his  spirit.  He  is  creative  rather  than  re- 
flective, synthetic  and  not  analytic.  From  his 
contact  with  nature  and  from  his  experience 
of  life,  out  of  which  rises  his  generative  emo- 
tion, he  moves  directly  to  the  fashioning  of 
expressive  forms,  without  pausing  on  the  way 
to  scan  too  closely  the  "  meaning"  of  his  work. 
Mr.  Bernard  Shaw  remarks  that  Ibsen,  giving 
the  rein  to  the  creative  impulse  of  his  poetic 
nature,  produced  in  "  Brand "  and  '*  Peer 

146 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

Gynt"a"greatpuzzle  for  his  intellect."  Wag- 
ner, he  says,  "  has  expressly  described  how 
the  intellectual  activity  which  he  brought  to 
the  analysis  of  his  music  dramas  was  in  abey- 
ance during  their  creation.  Just  so  do  we  find 
Ibsen,  after  composing  his  two  great  drama- 
tic poems,  entering  on  a  struggle  to  become 
intellectually  conscious  of  what  he  had  done." 
Moreover,  the  artist  is  in  the  very  nature  of 
things  committed  to  one  way  of  seeing.  His 
view  of  life  is  limited  by  the  trend  of  his  own 
dominant  and  creative  personality ;  what  he 
gains  in  intensity  and  penetration  of  insight 
he  loses  in  breadth.  He  is  less  quick  to  see 
beauty  in  another  guise  than  that  which  his 
own  imagination  weaves  for  him;  he  is  less 
receptive  of  other  ways  of  envisaging  the 
world. 

The  ideal  critic,  on  the  contrary,  is  above 
everything  else  catholic  and  tolerant.  It  is  his 
task  to  discover  beauty  in  whatever  form  and 
to  affirm  it.  By  nature  he  is  more  sensitive 
than  the  ordinary  man,  by  training  he  has 
directed  the  exercise  of  his  powers  toward 
their  fullest  scope,  and  by  experience  of  art 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

in  its  diverse  manifestations  he  has  certified 
his  judgment  and  deepened  his  capacity  to 
enjoy.  The  qualifications  of  an  authentic 
critic  are  both  temperament  and  scholarship. 
Mere  temperament  uncorrected  by  know- 
ledge may  vibrate  exquisitely  when  swept  by 
the  touch  of  a  thing  of  beauty,  but  its  music 
may  be  in  a  quite  different  key  from  the  ori- 
ginal motive.  Criticism  must  relate  itself  to 
the  objective  fact ;  it  should  interpret  and  not 
transpose.  Mere  scholarship  without  tem- 
perament misses  art  at  its  centre,  that  art  is 
the  expression  and  communication  of  emo- 
tional experience ;  and  the  scholar  in  criti- 
cism may  wander  his  leaden  way  down  the 
by-paths  of  a  sterile  learning.  To  mediate 
between  the  artist  and  the  appreciator,  the 
critic  must  understand  the  artist  and  he  must 
feel  with  the  appreciator.  He  is  at  once  the 
artist  translated  into  simpler  terms  and  the 
appreciator  raised  to  a  higher  power  of  per- 
ception and  response. 

The  service  of  criticism  to  the  layman  is 
to  furnish  him  a  clue  to  the  meaning  of  the 
work  in  hand,  and  by  the  critic's  own  response 

148 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

to  its  beauty  to  reveal  its  potency  and  charm. 
With  technique  as  such  the  critic  is  not  con- 
cerned. Technique  is  the  business  of  the  art- 
ist; only  those  who  themselves  practice  an 
art  are  qualified  to  judge  in  matters  of  prac- 
tice. The  form  is  significant  to  the  appre- 
ciator  only  so  far  as  regards  its  expressiveness 
and  beauty.  It  is  not  the  function  of  the 
critic  to  tell  the  artist  what  his  work  should 
be;  it  is  the  critic's  mission  to  reveal  to  the 
appreciator  what  the  work  is.  That  revela- 
tion will  be  accomplished  in  terms  of  the 
critic's  own  experience  of  the  beauty  of  the 
work,  an  experience  imaged  forth  in  such 
phrases  that  the  pleasure  the  work  commu- 
nicates is  conveyed  to  his  readers  in  its  true 
quality  and  full  intensity.  It  is  not  enough 
to  dogmatize  as  Ruskin  dogmatizes,  to  bully 
the  reader  into  a  terrified  acceptance.  It  is 
not  enough  to  determine  absolute  values  as 
Matthew  Arnold  seeks  to  do,  to  fix  certain 
canons  of  intellectual  judgment,  and  by  the 
application  of  a  formula  as  a  touchstone,  to 
decide  that  this  work  is  excellent  and  that 
another  is  less  good.  Really  serviceable  criti- 

149 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

cism  is  that  which  notes  the  special  and  dis- 
tinguishing quality  of  beauty  in  any  work  and 
helps  the  reader  to  live  out  that  beauty  in  his 
own  experience. 

These  generalizations  may  be  made  more 
immediate  and  practical  by  examples.  In 
illustration  of  the  didactic  manner  in  criti- 
cism I  may  cite  a  typical  paragraph  of  Rus- 
kin,  chosen  from  his  "  Mornings  in  Flor- 
ence." 

First,  look  at  the  two  sepulchral  slabs  by  which 
you  are  standing.  That  farther  of  the  two  from 
the  west  end  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  pieces  of 
fourteenth-century  sculpture  in  this  world.  .  .  . 
And  now,  here  is  a  simple  but  most  useful  test  of 
your  capacity  for  understanding  Florentine  sculp- 
ture or  painting.  If  you  can  see  that  the  lines  of 
that  cap  are  both  right,  and  lovely;  that  the  choice 
of  the  folds  is  exquisite  in  its  ornamental  relations 
of  line  ;  and  that  the  softness  and  ease  of  them  is 
complete, —  though  only  sketched  with  a  few  dark 
touches, — then  you  can  understand  Giotto's  draw- 
ing, and  Botticelli's;  —  Donatello's  carving,  and 
Luca's.  But  if  you  see  nothing  in  this  sculpture, 
you  will  see  nothing  in  theirs,  of  theirs.  Where 
they  choose  to  imitate  flesh,  or  silk,  or  to  play 
any  vulgar  modern  trick  with  marble  —  (and  they 

150 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

often  do) — whatever,  in  a  word,  is  French,  or 
American,  or  Cockney,  in  their  work,  you  can  see; 
but  what  is  Florentine,  and  for  ever  great  —  un- 
less you  can  see  also  the  beauty  of  this  old  man 
in  his  citizen's  cap, — you  will  see  never. 

The  earnest  and  docile  though  bewildered 
layman  is  intimidated  into  thinking  that  he 
sees  it,  whether  he  really  does  or  not.  But 
it  is  a  question  if  the  contemplation  of  the 
"  beauty  of  this  old  man  in  his  citizen's  cap," 
however  eager  and  serious  the  contemplation 
may  be,  adds  much  to  his  experience;  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  as  a  result  of  his  effort  to- 
ward the  understanding  of  the  Tightness  and 
loveliness  of  the  lines  of  the  cap  and  the  ex- 
quisiteness  of  the  choice  of  folds,  which  the 
critic  has  pointed  out  to  him  with  threaten- 
ing finger,  he  feels  that  life  is  a  fuller  and  finer 
thing  to  live. 

An  example  of  the  intellectual  estimate, 
the  valuation  by  formulas,  and  the  assign- 
ment of  abstract  rank,  is  this  paragraph  from 
Matthew  Arnold's  essay  on  Wordsworth. 

Wherever  we  meet  with  the  successful  balance, 
in  Wordsworth,  of  profound  truth  of  subject  with 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

profound  truth  of  execution,  he  is  unique.  His 
best  poems  are  those  which  most  perfectly  exhibit 
this  balance.  I  have  a  warm  admiration  for  "  Lao- 
dameia  "  and  for  the  great  "  Ode ;  "  but  if  I  am  to 
tell  the  very  truth,  I  find  "  Laodameia  "  not  wholly 
free  from  something  artificial,  and  the  great "  Ode  " 
not  wholly  free  from  something  declamatory.  If 
I  had  to  pick  out  poems  of  a  kind  most  perfectly 
to  show  Wordsworth's  unique  power,  I  should 
rather  choose  poems  such  as  "  Michael,"  "  The 
Fountain,"  "  The  Highland  Reaper."  And  poems 
with  the  peculiar  and  unique  beauty  which  dis- 
tinguishes these,  Wordsworth  produced  in  consid- 
erable number;  besides  very  many  other  poems 
of  which  the  worth,  although  not  so  rare  as  the 
worth  of  these,  is  still  exceedingly  high. 

Thus  does  the  judicial  critic  mete  out  his 
estimate  by  scale  and  measuring-rod.  We 
are  told  dogmatically  what  is  good  and  what 
is  less  good ;  but  of  distinctive  quality  and 
energizing  life-giving  virtues,  not  a  word. 
The  critic  does  not  succeed  in  communi- 
cating to  us  anything  of  Wordsworth's  spe- 
cial charm  and  power.  We  are  informed, 
but  we  are  left  cold  and  unresponding. 

The  didactic  critic  imposes  his  standard 
152 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

upon  the  layman.  The  judicial  critic  mea- 
sures and  awards.  The  appreciative  critic 
does  not  attempt  to  teach  or  to  judge  ;  he 
makes  possible  to  his  reader  an  appreciation 
of  the  work  of  art  simply  by  recreating  in 
his  own  terms  the  complex  of  his  emotions 
in  its  presence.  Instead  of  declaring  the 
work  to  be  beautiful  or  excellent,  he  makes 
it  beautiful  in  the  very  telling  of  what  it 
means  to  him.  As  the  artist  interprets  life, 
disclosing  its  depths  and  harmonies,  so  the 
appreciative  critic  in  his  turn  interprets  art, 
reconstituting  the  beauty  of  it  in  his  own 
terms.  Through  his  interpretation,  the  lay- 
man is  enabled  to  enter  more  fully  into  the 
true  spirit  of  the  work  and  to  share  its  beauty 
in  his  own  experience. 

In  contrast  to  the  passage  from  Arnold 
is  this  paragraph  from  an  essay  on  Words- 
worth by  Walter  Pater. 

And  so  he  has  much  for  those  who  value  highly 
the  concentrated  presentment  of  passion,  who  ap- 
praise men  and  women  by  their  susceptibility  to 
it,  and  art  and  poetry  as  they  afford  the  spectacle 
of  it.  Breaking  from  time  to  time  into  the  pen- 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

sive  spectacle  of  their  daily  toil,  their  occupations 
near  to  nature,  come  those  great  elementary  feel- 
ings, lifting  and  solemnizing  their  language  and 
giving  it  a  natural  music.  The  great,  distinguish- 
ing passion  came  to  Michael  by  the  sheepfold, 
to  Ruth  by  the  wayside,  adding  these  humble 
children  of  the  furrow  to  the  true  aristocracy  of 
passionate  souls.  In  this  respect,  Wordsworth's 
work  resembles  most  that  of  George  Sand,  in 
those  of  her  novels  which  depict  country  life. 
With  a  penetrative  pathos,  which  puts  him  in 
the  same  rank  with  the  masters  of  the  sentiment 
of  pity  in  literature,  with  Meinhold  and  Victor 
Hugo,  he  collects  all  the  traces  of  vivid  excite- 
ment which  were  to  be  found  in  that  pastoral 
world —  the  girl  who  rung  her  father's  knell ;  the 
unborn  infant  feeling  about  its  mother's  heart; 
the  instinctive  touches  of  children ;  the  sorrows 
of  the  wild  creatures,  even  —  their  home -sick- 
ness, their  strange  yearnings ;  the  tales  of  pas- 
sionate regret  that  hang  by  a  ruined  farm-building, 
a  heap  of  stones,  a  deserted  sheepfold  ;  that  gay, 
false,  adventurous,  outer  world,  which  breaks  in 
from  time  to  time  to  bewilder  and  deflower  these 
quiet  homes ;  not  "  passionate  sorrow  "  only,  for 
the  overthrow  of  the  soul's  beauty,  but  the  loss 
of,  or  carelessness  for  personal  beauty  even,  in 
those  whom  men  have  wronged  —  their  pathetic 

154 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

wanness  ;  the  sailor  "  who,  in  his  heart,  was  half 
a  shepherd  on  the  stormy  seas  ;  "  the  wild  woman 
teaching  her  child  to  pray  for  her  betrayer ;  inci- 
dents like  the  making  of  the  shepherd's  staff,  or 
that  of  the  young  boy  laying  the  first  stone  of 
the  sheepfold;  —  all  the  pathetic  episodes  of  their 
humble  existence,  their  longing,  their  wonder  at 
fortune,  their  poor  pathetic  pleasures,  like  the 
pleasures  of  children,  won  so  hardly  in  the  strug- 
gle for  bare  existence ;  their  yearning  towards 
each  other,  in  their  darkened  houses,  or  at  their 
early  toil.  A  sort  of  biblical  depth  and  solemnity 
hangs  over  this  strange,  new,  passionate,  pastoral 
world,  of  which  he  first  raised  the  image,  and  the 
reflection  of  which  some  of  our  best  modern  fic- 
tion has  caught  from  him. 

Here  is  the  clue  to  Wordsworth's  mean- 
ing ;  and  the  special  quality  and  power  of 
his  work,  gathering  amplitude  and  intensity 
as  it  plays  across  the  critic's  temperament, 
is  reconstituted  in  other  and  illuminating 
images  which  communicate  the  emotion  to 
us.  The  critic  has  felt  more  intimately 
than  we  the  appeal  of  this  poetry,  and  he 
kindles  in  us  something  of  his  own  enthusi- 
asm. So  we  return  to  Wordsworth  for  our- 


'55 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

selves,  more  alert  to  divine  his  message,  more 
susceptible  to  his  spell,  that  he  may  work 
in  us  the  magic  of  evocation. 

Criticism  is  of  value  to  us  as  appreciators 
in  so  far  as  it  serves  to  recreate  in  us  the  ex- 
perience which  the  work  was  designed  to 
convey.  But  criticism  is  not  a  short  cut  to 
enjoyment.  We  cannot  take  our  pleasure  at 
second  hand.  We  must  first  come  to  the 
work  freshly  and  realize  our  own  impres- 
sion of  it ;  then  afterwards  we  may  turn  to 
the  critic  for  a  further  revelation.  Criticism 
should  not  shape  our  opinion,  but  should 
stimulate  appreciation,  carrying  us  farther 
than  we  could  go  ourselves,  but  always  in 
the  same  direction  with  our  original  im- 
pression. There  is  a  kind  of  literary  exer- 
cise, calling  itself  criticism,  which  takes  a 
picture  or  a  book  as  its  point  of  departure 
and  proceeds  to  create  a  work  of  art  in  its 
own  right,  attaching  itself  only  in  name 
to  the  work  which  it  purports  to  criticise. 
"Who  cares,"  exclaims  a  clever  maker  of 
epigrams,  "  whether  Mr.  Ruskin's  views  on 
Turner  are  sound  or  not?  What  does  it 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

matter  ?  That  mighty  and  majestic  prose  of 
his,  so  fervid  and  so  fiery-coloured  in  its  noble 
eloquence,  so  rich  in  its  elaborate  sympho- 
nic music,  so  sure  and  certain,  at  its  best,  in 
subtle  choice  of  word  and  epithet,  is  at  least 
as  great  a  work  of  art  as  any  of  those  won- 
derful sunsets  that  bleach  or  rot  on  their 
corrupted  canvases  in  England's  Gallery." 
A  very  good  appreciation  of  Ruskin,  this. 
But  the  answer  is  that  such  writing  as  is  here 
attributed  to  Ruskin  is  magnificent :  it  may 
be  art ;  but  it  is  not  true  criticism.  A  work 
of  art  is  not  "impressive  "  merely,  but  "  ex- 
pressive" too.  Criticism  in  its  relation  to 
the  work  itself  has  an  objective  base,  and  it 
must  be  steadied  and  authenticated  by  con- 
stant reference  to  the  original  fact.  Criticism 
is  not  the  source  of  our  enjoyment  but  a  me- 
dium of  interpretation. 

Before  we  turn  to  criticism,  therefore,  we 
must  first,  as  Pater  suggests,  know  our  own 
impression  as  it  really  is,  discriminate  it,  and 
realize  it  distinctly.  Only  so  shall  we  escape 
becoming  the  dupe  of  some  more  aggres- 
sive personality.  In  our  mental  life  sugges- 

157 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

tion  plays  an  important  and  perhaps  unrecog- 
nized part.  In  a  certain  frame  of  mind  we 
can  be  persuaded  into  believing  anything 
and  into  liking  anything.  When,  under  the 
influence  of  authority  or  fashion,  we  think 
we  care  for  that  which  has  no  vital  and  con- 
sciously realized  relation  to  our  own  experi- 
ence, we  are  the  victims  of  a  kind  of  hypno- 
tism, and  there  is  little  hope  of  our  ultimate 
adjustment  over  against  art.  It  is  far  better 
honestly  to  like  an  inferior  work  and  know 
why  we  like  it  than  to  pretend  to  like  a 
good  one.  In  the  latter  case  no  real  pro- 
gress or  development  is  possible,  for  we  have 
no  standards  that  can  be  regarded  as  final; 
we  are  swayed  by  the  authority  or  influence 
which  happens  at  that  moment  to  be  most 
powerful.  In  the  former  case  we  are  at  least 
started  in  the  right  direction.  Year  by  year, 
according  to  the  law  of  natural  growth,  we 
come  to  the  end  of  the  inferior  work  which 
up  to  that  time  has  been  able  to  minister  to 
us,  and  we  pass  on  to  new  and  greater  works 
that  satisfy  the  demands  of  our  deepening  ex- 
perience. It  is  sometimes  asked  if  we  ought 

158 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

not  to  try  to  like  the  best  things  in  art.  I 
should  answer,  the  very  greatest  things  we 
do  not  have  to  try  to  like ;  the  accent  of  great- 
ness is  unmistakable,  and  greatness  has  a  mes- 
sage for  every  one.  As  regards  the  lesser 
works,  we  ought  to  be  willing  to  grow  up. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  enjoyed  "Robinson 
Crusoe  "  in  words  of  one  syllable.  If  I  had 
tried  then  to  like  Mr.  George  Meredith,  I 
should  not  really  have  enjoyed  him,  and  I 
should  have  missed  the  fun  of  "  Robinson 
Crusoe."  Everything  in  its  time  and  place. 
The  lesser  works  have  their  use  :  they  may 
be  a  starting-point  for  our  entrance  into  life ; 
and  they  furnish  a  basis  of  comparison  by 
which  we  are  enabled  to  realize  the  greatness 
of  the  truly  great.  We  must  value  everything 
in  its  own  kind,  affirming  what  it  is,  and  not 
regretting  what  it  is  not.  But  the  prerequi- 
site of  all  appreciation,  without  which  our 
contact  with  art  is  a  pastime  or  a  pretense,  is 
that  we  be  honest  with  ourselves.  In  playing 
solitaire  at  least  we  ought  not  to  cheat. 

So  the  layman  must  face   the   situation 
squarely  and  accept  the  responsibility  of  de- 

159 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ciding  finally  for  himself.  On  the  way  we 
may  look  to  criticism  to  guide  us  to  those 
works  which  are  meant  for  us.  In  art  as  in  the 
complex  details  of  living,  there  is  need  of  se- 
lection ;  and  criticism  helps  toward  that.  In 
literature  alone,  to  name  but  a  single  art, 
there  is  so  much  to  be  left  unread  which  the 
length  of  our  life  would  not  otherwise  per- 
mit us  to  escape,  that  we  are  grateful  to  the 
critic  who  aids  us  to  omit  gracefully  and  with 
success.  But  the  most  serviceable  criticism 
is  positive  and  not  destructive.  The  lesser 
works  may  have  a  message  for  us,  and  it  is 
that  message  in  its  distinctive  quality  which 
the  critic  should  affirm.  In  the  end,  however, 
the  use  we  make  of  criticism  should  not  re- 
duce itself  to  an  unquestioning  acceptance  of 
authority.  In  the  ceremonial  of  the  Roman 
service,  at  the  moment  preceding  the  eleva- 
tion of  the  Host,  two  acolytes  enter  the  chan- 
cel, bearing  candles,  and  kneel  between  the 
congregation  and  the  ministrants  at  the  altar ; 
the  tapers,  suffusing  the  altar  in  their  golden 
radiance,  throw  the  dim  figures  of  the  priests 
into  a  greater  gloom  and  mystery.  So  it  hap- 

160 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

pens  that  art  often  is  enshrouded  by  the  off- 
giving  of  those  who  would  seem  to  illumi- 
nate it ;  and  "  dark  with  excess  of  light,"  the 
obscurity  is  intensified.  The  layman  is  told 
of  the  virginal  poetry  of  early  Italian  paint- 
ing ;  he  is  bidden  to  sit  at  the  homely,  sub- 
stantial feast  of  the  frank  actuality  of  Dutch 
art ;  he  listens  in  puzzled  wonder  to  the  glo- 
rification of  Velasquez  and  Goya;  he  reads  in 
eloquent,  glowing  language  of  the  splendor 
of  Turner.  He  is  more  than  half  persuaded; 
but  he  does  not  quite  understand.  From  this 
tangle  of  contending  interests  there  seems 
for  the  moment  to  be  no  way  out.  It  is  as- 
sumed that  the  layman  has  no  standard  of  his 
own ;  and  he  yields  himself  to  the  appeal 
which  comes  to  him  immediately  at  the  in- 
stant. The  next  day,  perhaps,  brings  a  new 
interest  or  another  judgment  which  runs 
counter  to  the  old.  Back  and  forth  and  back 
again,  without  purpose  and  without  reason  ; 
it  is  only  an  endless  recurrence  of  the  con- 
flict instead  of  development  and  progress. 
Taking  all  his  estimates  at  second  hand,  so 
for  his  opinion  even  of  a  concert  or  a  play  he 

161 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

is  at  the  mercy  of  a  critic  who  may  have 
dined  badly.  Some  boy,  caught  young  at  the 
university  and  broken  to  miscellaneous  tasks 
on  a  big  newspaper,  is  sent  to  "  do  "a  picture- 
exhibition,  a  concert,  and  the  theatre  in  the 
same  day.  He  is  expected  to  "  criticise  "  in 
an  hour  the  work  of  a  lifetime  of  struggle 
and  effort  and  knowledge  and  thought  and 
feeling.  This  is  the  guide  of  opinion  and  the 
foundation  of  artistic  creed.  I  have  stated  the 
reduction  to  absurdity  of  the  case  for  author- 
ity in  criticism.  If  the  layman  who  leans 
too  heavily  upon  criticism  comes  to  realize 
the  hopelessness  of  his  position  and  thinks 
the  situation  through  to  its  necessary  conclu- 
sion, he  sees  that  the  authority  of  criticism  is 
not  absolute,  but  varies  with  the  powers  and 
range  of  the  individual  critic,  and  that  at  the 
last  he  must  find  his  standard  within  himself. 
There  are,  of  course,  certain  standards  of 
excellence  recognized  universally  and  cer- 
tain principles  of  taste  of  universal  validity ; 
and  to  these  standards  and  these  principles 
must  be  referred  our  individual  estimates  for 
comparison  and  correction.  Given  a  native 

162 


THE  SERVICE  OF  CRITICISM 

sensibility  to  the  worth  of  life  and  to  the 
appeal  of  beauty,  the  justice  of  our  estimate 
will  be  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  our 
knowledge  of  life  and  of  our  contact  with 
art.  Our  individual  judgment,  therefore, 
must  be  controlled  by  experience,  —  our  mo- 
mentary judgments  by  the  sum  of  our  own 
experience,  and  our  total  judgment  by  uni- 
versal experience.  In  all  sound  criticism  and 
right  appreciation  there  must  be  a  basis  of 
disciplined  taste.  We  must  guard  ourselves 
against  whims  and  caprice,  even  our  own. 
So  the  individual  may  not  cut  loose  alto- 
gether from  external  standards.  But  these 
must  be  brought  into  relation  to  his  personal 
needs  and  applied  with  reference  to  his  own 
standard.  Finally,  for  his  own  uses,  the  indi- 
vidual has  the  right  to  determine  the  mean- 
ing and  value  to  him  of  any  work  of  art  in 
the  measure  that  it  links  itself  with  his  own 
actual  or  possible  experience  and  becomes 
for  him  a  revelation  of  fuller  life.  For  beauty 
is  the  power  possessed  by  objects  to  quicken 
us  with  a  sense  of  larger  personality;  and  art, 
whether  the  arts  of  form  or  of  representa- 

163 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

tion,  is  the  material  bodying  forth  of  beauty 
as  the  artist  has  perceived  it  and  the  means 
by  which  his  emotion  in  its  presence  is  com- 
municated. Upon  this  conception  of  beauty 
and  this  interpretation  of  the  scope  and  func- 
tion of  art  rests  the  justice  of  the  personal 
estimate. 


VII 

BEAUTY    AND    COMMON    LIFE 

TO  become  sensitive  to  the  meaning  of 
color  and  form  and  sound  as  the  artist 
employs  them  for  expression,  to  feel  a  work 
of  art  in  its  relation  to  its  background,  to 
find  in  criticism  enlightenment  and  guidance 
but  not  a  substitute  for  one's  own  experi- 
ence, —  these  are  methods  of  approach  to 
art.  But  the  appreciator  has  yet  to  penetrate 
art's  inmost  secret.  At  the  centre,  as  the 
motive  of  all  his  efforts  to  understand  the 
language  of  art  and  the  processes  of  tech- 
nique, as  the  goal  of  historical  study  and  the 
purpose  of  his  recourse  to  criticism,  stands 
the  work  itself  with  its  power  to  attract 
and  charm.  Here  is  Millet's  painting  of  the 
"  Sower."  In  the  actual  presence  of  the  pic- 
ture the  appreciator's  experience  is  complex. 
Analysis  resolves  it  into  considerations  of  the 
material  form  of  the  work,  involving  its  sen- 

165 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

suous  qualities  and  the  processes  of  execu- 
tion, considerations  also  of  the  subject  of  the 
picture,  which  gathers  about  itself  many  as- 
sociations out  of  the  beholder's  own  previous 
knowledge  of  life.  But  the  clue  to  the  final 
meaning  of  the  work,  its  meaning  both  to 
the  artist  and  to  the  appreciator,  is  contained 
in  the  answer  to  the  question,  Why  did  Mil- 
let paint  this  picture  ?  And  just  what  is  it 
designed  to  express  ? 

Art  is  born  out  of  emotion.  Though  the 
symbols  it  may  employ  to  expression,  the 
forms  in  which  it  may  manifest  itself,  are  in- 
finitely various  in  range  and  character,  essen- 
tially all  art  is  one.  A  work  of  art  is  the 
material  bodying  forth  of  the  artist's  sense 
of  a  meaning  in  life  which  unfolds  itself  to 
him  as  harmony  and  to  which  his  spirit  re- 
sponds accordantly.  It  may  be  a  pattern  he 
has  conceived;  or  he  adapts  material  to  a 
new  use  in  response  to  a  new  need :  the  artist 
is  here  a  craftsman.  He  is  stirred  by  the  tone 
and  incident  of  a  landscape  or  by  the  force 
or  charm  of  some  personality :  and  he  puts 
brush  to  canvas.  He  apprehends  the  com- 

166 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

plex  rhythms  of  form :  and  the  mobile  clay 
takes  shape  under  his  fingers.  He  feels  the 
significance  of  persons  acting  and  reacting 
in  their  contact  with  one  another :  and  he 
pens  a  novel  or  a  drama.  He  is  thrilled  by 
the  emotion  attending  the  influx  of  a  great 
idea ;  philosophy  is  touched  with  feeling : 
and  the  thinker  becomes  a  poet.  The  dis- 
cords of  experience  resolve  themselves  with- 
in him  into  harmonies :  and  he  gives  them 
out  in  triumphant  harmonies  of  sound.  The 
particular  medium  the  artist  chooses  in  which 
to  express  himself  is  incidental  to  the  feeling 
to  be  conveyed.  The  stimulus  to  emotion 
which  impels  the  artist  to  create  and  the 
essential  content  of  his  work  is  beauty.  As 
beauty,  then,  is  the  very  stuff  and  fibre  of  art, 
inextricably  bound  up  with  it,  so  in  our  ef- 
fort to  relate  art  to  our  experience  we  may 
seek  to  know  something  of  the  nature  of 
beauty  and  its  place  in  common  life. 

During  a  visit  in  Philadelphia  I  was  con- 
ducted by  a  member  of  the  firm  through 
the  great  Locomotive  Works  in  that  city. 
From  the  vast  office,  with  its  atmosphere 

167 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  busy,  concentrated  quiet,  punctuated  by 
the  clicking  of  many  typewriters,  I  was  led 
through  doors  and  passages,  and  at  length 
came  upon  the  shrieking  inferno  of  the  shops. 
The  uproar  and  din  were  maddening.  Over- 
head, huge  cranes  were  swinging  great  bulks 
of  steel  from  one  end  of  the  cavernous  shed 
to  the  other;  vague  figures  were  moving 
obscurely  in  the  murk ;  the  floor  was  piled 
and  littered  with  heaps  of  iron-work  of  un- 
imaginable shapes.  After  a  time  we  made 
our  way  into  another  area  where  there  was 
more  quiet  but  no  less  confusion.  I  yelled 
to  my  guide,  "  Such  a  rumpus  and  row  I 
never  saw ;  it  is  chaos  come  again  !  "  And 
he  replied,  "  Why,  to  me  it  is  all  a  perfect 
order.  Everything  is  in  its  place.  Every  man 
has  his  special  job  and  does  it.  I  know  the 
meaning  and  purpose  of  all  those  parts  that 
seem  to  you  to  be  thrown  around  in  such 
a  mess.  If  you  could  follow  the  course  of 
making  from  the  draughting-rooms  to  the 
finishing-shop,  if  you  could  see  the  process 
at  once  as  a  whole,  you  would  understand 
that  it  is  all  a  complete  harmony,  every  part 

168 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

working  with  every  other  part  to  a  definite 
end."  It  was  not  I  but  my  friend  who  had 
the  truth  of  the  matter.  Where  for  me  there 
was  only  chaos,  for  him  was  order.  And  the 
difference  was  that  he  had  the  clue  which 
I  had  not.  His  sense  of  the  meaning  of  the 
parts  brought  the  scattering  details  into  a 
final  unity ;  and  therein  he  found  harmony 
and  satisfaction. 

I  went  away  much  impressed  by  what  I 
had  seen.  When  I  had  collected  my  wits  a 
little  in  the  comparative  calm  of  the  streets, 
it  occurred  to  me  that  the  immense  workshops 
were  a  symbol  of  man's  life  in  the  world. 
In  the  instant  of  experience  all  seems  chaos. 
At  close  range,  in  direct  contact  with  the 
facts  and  demands  of  every  day,  we  feel  how 
confusing  and  distracting  it  all  is.  Life  is 
beating  in  upon  us  at  every  point ;  all  our 
senses  are  assailed  at  once.  Each  new  day 
brings  its  conflicting  interests  and  obliga- 
tions. Now,  whether  we  are  aware  of  it  or 
not,  our  constant  effort  is,  out  of  the  great 
variety  of  experience  pressing  in  upon  us, 
to  select  such  details  as  make  to  a  definite 

169 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

purpose  and  end.  Instinctively  we  grope 
toward  and  attract  to  us  that  which  is  spe- 
cial and  proper  to  our  individual  develop- 
ment. Our  progress  is  toward  harmony.  By 
the  adjustment  of  new  material  to  the  shap- 
ing principle  of  our  experience,  the  circle  of 
our  individual  lives  widens  its  circumference. 
We  are  able  to  bring  more  and  more  details 
into  order,  and  correspondingly  fuller  and 
richer  our  life  becomes. 

The  mental  perception  of  order  in  the  parts 
gives  the  whole  its  significance.  This  quick 
grasp  of  the  whole  is  like  the  click  of  the 
kaleidoscope  which  throws  the  tumbling, 
distorted  bits  into  a  design.  The  conduct  of 
practical  life  on  the  mental  plane  is  the  pro- 
cess also  of  art  on  the  plane  of  the  emotions. 
Not  only  does  experience  offer  itself  to  us 
as  the  subject  of  thought ;  our  contact  with 
the  world  is  also  the  stimulus  of  feeling.  In 
my  account  of  the  visit  to  the  Locomotive 
Works  I  have  set  down  but  a  part  and  not 
the  sum  of  my  reaction.  After  I  had  come 
away,  I  fell  to  thinking  about  what  I  had 
seen,  and  intellectually  I  deduced  certain 

170 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

abstract  principles  with  regard  to  unity  and 
significance.  But  at  the  moment  of  experi- 
ence itself  I  simply  felt.  I  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  sense  of  unloosened  power.  The  very 
confusion  of  it  all  constituted  the  unity  of 
impression.  The  emotion  roused  in  me  by 
the  roar  and  riotous  movement  and  the  vast 
gloom  torn  by  fitful  yellow  gleams  from 
opened  furnaces  and  shapes  of  glowing  metal 
was  the  emotion  appropriate  to  the  experi- 
ence of  chaos.  That  I  can  find  a  single  word 
by  which  to  characterize  it,  is  evidence  that 
the  moment  had  its  harmony  for  me  and 
consequent  meaning.  All  the  infinite  uni- 
verse external  to  us  is  everywhere  and  at 
every  instant  potentially  the  stimulus  to  emo- 
tion. But  unless  feeling  is  discriminated,  it 
passes  unregarded.  When  the  emotion  gathers 
itself  into  design,  when  the  moment  reveals 
within  itself  order  and  significance,  then  and 
not  till  then  the  emotion  becomes  substance 
for  expression  in  forms  of  art. 

If  I  were  able  to  phrase  what  I  saw  and 
what  I  felt  in  the  Locomotive  Works,  so  that 
by  means  of  presenting  what  I  saw  I  might 

171 


THE   GATE   OF   APPRECIATION 

communicate  to  another  what  I  felt  and  so 
rouse  in  him  the  same  emotion,  I  should  be 
an  artist.  Whistler  or  Monet  might  picture 
for  us  the  murk  and  mystery  of  this  preg- 
nant gloom.  Wagner  might  sound  for  us  the 
tumultuous,  weird  emotions  of  this  Niebe- 
lungen  workshop  of  the  twentieth  century. 
Dante  or  Milton  might  phrase  this  inferno 
and  pandemonium  of  modern  industry  and 
leave  us  stirred  by  the  sense  of  power  in  the 
play  of  gigantic  forces.  Whether  the  me- 
dium be  the  painter's  color,  the  musician's 
tones,  or  the  poet's  words,  the  purpose  of  the 
representation  is  fulfilled  in  so  far  as  the  work 
expresses  the  emotion  which  the  artist  has 
felt  in  the  presence  of  this  spectacle.  He, 
the  artist,  more  than  I  or  another,  has  thrilled 
to  its  mystery,  its  tumult,  its  power.  It  is  this 
effect,  received  as  a  unity  of  impression,  that 
he  wants  to  communicate.  This  power  of 
the  object  over  him,  and  consequently  the 
content  of  his  work,  is  beauty. 

In  the  experience  of  us  all  there  are  objects 
and  situations  which  can  stir  us, — the  twi- 
light hour,  a  group  of  children  at  play,  the 

172 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

spectacle  of  the  great  human  crowd,  it  may 
be,  or  solitude  under  the  stars,  the  works  of 
man  as  vast  cities  or  cunningly  contrived  ma- 
chines, or  perhaps  it  is  the  mighty,  shifting 
panorama  which  nature  unrolls  for  us  at  every 
instant  of  day  and  night,  her  endless  pageant 
of  color  and  light  and  shade  and  form.  Out 
of  them  at  the  moment  of  our  contact  is 
unfolded  a  new  significance;  because  of  them 
life  becomes  for  us  larger,  deeper.  This 
power  possessed  by  objects  to  rouse  in  us  an 
emotion  which  comes  with  the  realization 
of  inner  significance  expressed  in  harmony  is 
beauty.  A  brief  analysis  of  the  nature  and 
action  of  beauty  may  help  us  in  the  under- 
standing and  appreciation  of  art,  though  the 
value  to  us  of  any  explanation  is  to  quicken 
us  to  a  more  vivid  sensitiveness  to  the  effect 
of  beauty  in  the  domain  of  actual  experience 
of  it. 

Because  the  world  external  to  us,  which 
manifests  beauty,  is  received  into  conscious- 
ness by  the  senses,  it  is  natural  to  seek  our 
explanation  in  the  processes  involved  in  the 
functioning  of  our  organism.  Our  existence 

«73 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

as  individual  human  beings  is  conditioned  by 
our  embodiment  in  matter.  Without  senses, 
without  nerves  and  a  brain,  we  should  not  be. 
Our  feelings,  which  determine  for  us  finally 
the  value  of  experience,  are  the  product  of 
the  excitement  of  our  physical  organism  re- 
sponding to  stimulation.  The  rudimentary 
and  most  general  feelings  are  pleasure  and 
pain.  All  the  complex  and  infinitely  varied 
emotions  that  go  to  make  up  our  conscious 
life  are  modifications  of  these  two  elemen- 
tary reactions.  The  feeling  of  pleasure  results 
when  our  organism  "  functions  harmoni- 
ously with  itself;  "  pain  is  the  consequence 
of  discord.  In  the  words  of  a  recent  admi- 
rable statement  of  the  psychologists'  posi- 
tion: "When  rhythm  and  melody  and  forms 
and  colors  give  me  pleasure,  it  is  because  the 
imitating  impulses  and  movements  that  have 
arisen  in  me  are  such  as  suit,  help,  heighten 
my  physical  organization  in  general  and  in 
particular.  .  .  .  The  basis,  in  short,  of  any 
aesthetic  experience  —  poetry,  music,  paint- 
ing and  the  rest  —  is  beautiful  through  its 
harmony  with  the  conditions  offered  by  our 

174 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

senses,  primarily  of  sight  and  hearing,  and 
through  the  harmony  of  the  suggestions  and 
impulses  it  arouses  with  the  whole  organism." 
Beauty,  then,  according  to  the  psychologists, 
is  the  quality  inherent  in  things,  the  posses- 
sion of  which  enables  them  to  stimulate  our 
organism  to  harmonious  functioning.  And 
the  perception  of  beauty  is  a  purely  physio- 
logical reaction. 

This  explanation,  valid  within  its  limits, 
seems  to  me  to  fall  short  of  the  whole  truth. 
For  it  fails  to  reckon  with  that  faculty  and 
that  entity  within  us  whose  existence  we 
know  but  cannot  explain,  —  the  faculty  we 
call  mind,  which  operates  as  imagination, 
and  the  entity  we  recognize  as  spirit  or  soul. 
I  mean  the  faculty  which  gives  us  the  idea  of 
God  and  the  consciousness  of  self,  the  faculty 
which  apprehends  relations  and  significance 
in  material  transcending  their  material  em- 
bodiment. I  mean  the  entity  within  us  which 
expresses  itself  in  love  and  aspiration  and 
worship,  the  entity  which  is  able  to  fuse  with 
the  harmony  external  to  it  in  a  larger  unity. 
When  I  glance  out  upon  a  winter  twilight 

'75 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

drenching  earth  and  sky  with  luminous  blue, 
a  sudden  delight  floods  in  upon  me,  gather- 
ing up  all  my  senses  in  a  surging  billow  of 
emotion,  and  my  being  pulses  and  vibrates 
in  a  beat  of  joy.  Something  within  me  goes 
out  to  meet  the  landscape  ;  so  far  as  I  am  at 
all  conscious  of  the  moment,  I  feel,  There, 
that  is  what  I  am!  This  deep  harmony  of 
tone  and  mass  is  the  expression  of  a  fuller 
self  toward  which  I  yearn.  My  being  thrills 
and  dilates  with  the  sensation  of  larger  life. 
Then,  after  the  joy  has  throbbed  itself  out  and 
my  reaction  takes  shape  as  consciousness,  I 
set  myself  to  consider  the  sources  and  the  pro- 
cesses of  my  experience.  I  note  that  my  eye 
has  perceived  color  and  form.  My  intellect, 
as  I  summon  it  into  action,  tells  me  that  I  am 
looking  upon  a  scene  in  nature  composed 
of  material  elements,  as  land  and  trees  and 
water  and  atmosphere.  My  senses,  operat- 
ing through  channels  of  matter,  receive,  and 
my  brain  registers,  impressions  of  material 
objects.  But  this  analysis,  though  defining 
the  processes,  does  not  quite  explain  my  joy. 
I  know  that  beyond  all  this,  transcending  my 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

material  sense-perception  and  transcending 
the  actual  material  of  the  landscape,  there  is 
something  in  me  and  there  is  something  in 
nature  which  meet  and  mingle  and  become 
one.  Above  all  embodiment  in  matter,  there 
is  a  plane  on  which  I  feel  my  community  with 
the  world  external  to  me,  recognizing  that 
world  to  be  an  extension  of  my  own  person- 
ality, a  plane  on  which  I  can  identify  myself 
with  the  thing  outside  of  me  in  so  far  as  it  is 
the  expression  of  what  I  am  or  may  become. 
Between  me  and  the  external  world  there  is 
a  common  term.  The  effect  which  nature 
has  upon  us  is  determined,  not  by  the  object 
itself  alone  and  not  by  our  individual  mind 
and  temperament  alone,  but  by  the  meeting 
of  the  two,  the  community  between  the  ob- 
ject and  the  spirit  of  man.  When  we  find 
nature  significant  and  expressive,  it  is  because 
we  make  nature  in  some  way  a  part  of  our 
own  experience. 

The  material  of  an  object  is  perceived  by 
the  senses.  We  see  that  it  is  blue  or  green 
or  brown ;  we  may  touch  it  and  note  that 
it  is  rough  or  smooth,  hard  or  soft,  warm  or 

177 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

cold.  But  the  expressiveness  of  the  object,  its 
value  for  the  emotions,  does  not  stop  with  its 
merely  material  qualities,  but  comes  with  our 
grasp  of  the  "  relations  "  which  it  embodies ; 
and  these  relations,  transmitted  through  ma- 
terial by  the  senses,  are  apprehended  by  the 
mind.  There  are,  of  course,  elementary  data 
of  sense-perception,  such  as  color  and  sound. 
It  may  be  that  I  prefer  red  to  yellow  be- 
cause my  eye  is  so  constituted  as  to  function 
harmoniously  with  a  rate  of  vibration  repre- 
sented by  450  billions  per  second,  and  dis- 
cordantly with  a  rate  of  vibration  represented 
by  526  billions  per  second.  So  also  with 
tones  of  a  given  pitch.  But  though  simple 
color  and  simple  sound  have  each  the  power 
to  please  the  senses,  yet  in  actual  experience 
neither  color  norsound  is  perceived  abstractly, 
apart  from  its  embodiment  in  form.  Color 
is  felt  as  the  property  of  some  concrete  ob- 
ject, as  the  crimson  of  a  rose,  the  dye  of 
some  fabric  or  garment,  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
which,  though  we  know  it  to  be  the  infinite 
extension  of  atmosphere  and  ether,  we  never- 
theless conceive  as  a  dome,  with  curvature 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

and  the  definite  boundary  of  the  horizon. 
Sound  in  and  of  itself  has  pitch  and  timbre, 
qualities  of  pure  sensation ;  but  even  with  the 
perception  of  sound  the  element  of  form 
enters  in,  for  we  hear  it  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  its  duration  —  long  or  short  —  or 
of  its  relation  to  other  sounds,  heard  or  im- 
agined. 

Our  perceptions,  therefore,  give  us  forms. 
Now  form  implies  relation,  the  reference  of 
one  part  to  the  other  parts  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  whole.  And  relation  carries  with 
it  the  possibilities  of  harmony  or  discord,  of 
unity  or  disorder.  Before  an  object  can  be 
regarded  as  beautiful  it  must  give  out  a  unity 
of  impression.  This  unity  does  not  reside  in 
the  object  itself,  but  is  effected  by  the  mind 
which  perceives  it.  In  looking  at  a  checker- 
board I  may  see  it  as  an  aggregation  of  white 
squares  set  off  by  black,  or  as  black  squares 
relieved  by  white.  I  may  read  it  as  a  series 
of  horizontals,  or  of  verticals,  or  of  diagonals, 
according  as  I  attend  to  it.  The  design  of  the 
checker-board  is  not  an  absolute  and  fixed 
quantity  inherent  in  the  object  itself,  but  is 

179 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

capable  of  a  various  interpretation  according 
to  the  relative  emphasis  given  to  the  parts  by 
the  perceiving  mind.  So  with  all  objects  in 
nature.  The  twilight  landscape  which  stirred 
me  may  have  been  quite  without  interest 
or  meaning  to  the  man  at  my  side;  or,  if  he 
responded  to  it  at  all,  his  feelings  may  have 
been  of  a  different  order  and  quality  than 
mine.  Where  I  felt  a  deep  and  intimate  so- 
lemnity in  the  landscape,  he  might  have  re- 
ceived the  twilight  as  chill  and  forbidding. 
Beauty,  then,  which  consists  in  harmonious 
relation,  does  not  lie  in  nature  objectively, 
but  is  constituted  by  the  perception  in  man's 
constructive  imagination  of  a  harmony  and 
consequent  significance  drawn  out  of  natural 
forms.  It  is,  in  Emerson's  phrase,  "  the  in- 
tegrity of  impression  made  by  manifold  nat- 
ural objects."  And  Emerson  says  further, 
"  The  charming  landscape  which  I  saw  this 
morning  is  indubitably  made  up  of  some 
twenty  or  thirty  farms.  Miller  owns  this 
field,  Locke  that,  and  Manning  the  wood- 
land beyond.  But  none  of  them  owns  the 
landscape.  There  is  a  property  in  the  hori- 

180 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

zon  which  no  man  has  but  he  whose  eye  can 
integrate  all  the  parts,  that  is,  the  poet."  The 
mere  pleasurable  excitement  of  the  senses  is 
hardly  to  be  called  beauty.  An  object  to  be 
beautiful  must  express  a  harmony  of  relations 
and  hence  a  meaning,  —  a  meaning  which 
goes  beyond  sense-perception  and  does  not 
stop  with  the  intellect,  but  reaches  the  spirit. 
Psychologists  tell  us  that  "a  curved  line  is 
pleasing  because  the  eye  is  so  hung  as  best  to 
move  in  it."  Pleasing,  yes ;  but  not  beauti- 
ful. And  precisely  herein  is  illustrated  the 
distinction.  A  life  wearied  with  an  undulat- 
ing uniformity  of  days  will  find  beauty  less 
in  the  curve  than  in  the  zigzag,  because  the 
sight  of  the  broken  line  brings  to  the  spirit 
suggestions  of  change  and  adventure.  A  su- 
pine temper  finds  shock,  excitement,  and  a 
meaning  in  the  vertical.  Yet  the  significance 
of  forms  is  not  determined  necessarily  by 
contrasts.  A  quiet  spirit  sees  its  own  expres- 
sion, a  harmony  of  self  with  external  form, 
in  the  even  lines  and  flat  spaces  of  some 
Dutch  etching.  Or  a  vigorous,  hardy  mind 
takes  fresh  stimulus  and  courage  from  the 

181 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

swirling  clouds  of  Turner  or  the  wind- torn 
landscapes  of  Constable.  An  object  is  beau- 
tiful, not  because  of  the  physical  ease  with 
which  the  eye  follows  its  outlines,  but  in  so 
far  as  it  has  the  power  to  communicate  to  us 
the  feeling  of  larger  life,  to  express  and  com- 
plete for  us  a  harmony  within  our  emotional 
experience. 

Our  senses  report  to  us  the  material  world ; 
we  see,  we  hear,  we  touch  and  taste  and  smell. 
But  we  recognize  also  that  nature  has  a  value 
for  the  emotions;  it  can  delight  and  thrill 
and  uplift,  taking  us  out  of  ourselves  and  car- 
rying us  beyond  the  confines  of  the  little  circle 
of  our  daily  use  and  wont.  As  I  look  from 
my  window  I  see  against  the  sky  a  pear  tree, 
radiant  with  blossom,  an  explosion  of  light 
and  sensation.  Its  green  and  white,  steeped 
in  sunshine  and  quivering  out  of  rain-washed 
depths  of  blue,  are  good  to  behold.  But  for 
me,  as  my  spirit  goes  out  to  meet  it,  the  tree 
is  spring!  In  this  I  do  not  mean  to  charac- 
terize a  process  of  intellectual  deduction, — 
that  as  blossoms  come  in  the  spring,  so  the 
flowering  of  the  tree  is  evidence  that  spring 

182 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

is  here.  I  mean  that  by  its  color  and  form, 
all  its  outward  loveliness,  the  tree  communi- 
cates to  me  the  spirit  of  the  new  birth  of  the 
year.  In  myself  I  feel  and  live  the  spring. 
My  joy  in  the  tree,  therefore,  does  not  end 
with  the  sight  of  its  gray  trunk  and  inter- 
woven branches  and  its  gleaming  play  of 
leaves :  there  my  joy  only  begins,  and  it 
comes  to  its  fulfillment  as  I  feel  the  life  of  the 
tree  to  be  an  expression  and  extension  of 
the  life  that  is  in  me.  My  physical  organism 
responds  harmoniously  in  rhythm  with  the 
form  of  the  tree,  and  so  far  the  tree  is  pleas- 
ing. But,  finally,  a  form  is  beautiful  because 
it  is  expressive.  "Beauty,"  said  Millet,  "  does 
not  consist  merely  in  the  shape  or  color- 
ing of  a  face.  It  lies  in  the  general  effect  of 
the  form,  in  suitable  and  appropriate  action. 
.  .  .  When  I  paint  a  mother,  I  shall  try  and 
make  her  beautiful  simply  by  the  look  she 
bends  upon  her  child.  Beauty  is  expression." 
Beauty  works  its  effect  through  significance,  a 
significance  which  is  not  always  to  be  phrased 
in  words,  but  is  felt ;  conveyed  by  the  senses, 
it  at  last  reaches  the  emotions.  Where  the 

183 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

spirit  of  man  comes  into  harmony  with  a  har- 
mony external  to  it,  there  is  beauty. 

The  elements  of  beauty  are  design,  whole- 
ness, and  significance.  Significance  proceeds 
out  of  wholeness  or  unity  of  impression ;  and 
unity  is  made  possible  by  design.  Whatever 
the  flower  into  which  it  may  ultimately  ex- 
pand, beauty  has  its  roots  in  fitness  and  util- 
ity ;  design  in  this  case  is  constituted  by  the 
adaptation  of  the  means  to  the  end.  The 
owner  of  a  saw-mill  wanted  a  support  made 
for  a  shafting.  Indicating  a  general  idea  of 
what  he  desired,  he  applied  to  one  of  his 
workmen,  a  man  of  intelligence  and  skill  in 
his  craft,  but  without  a  conventional  educa- 
tion. The  man  constructed  the  support,  a 
triangular  framework  contrived  to  receive 
the  shafting  at  the  apex ;  where  there  was  no 
stress  within  the  triangle,  he  cut  away  the 
timber,  thus  eliminating  all  surplusage  of 
material.  When  the  owner  saw  the  finished 
product  he  said  to  his  workman,  "Well, 
John,  that  is  a  really  beautiful  thing  you 
have  made  there."  And  the  man  replied,  "I 
don't  know  anything  about  the  beauty  of 

184 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

it,  but  I  know  it 's  strong !  "  The  end  to  be 
reached  was  a  support  which  should  be  strong. 
The  strong  support  was  felt  to  be  beautiful, 
for  its  lines  and  masses  were  apprehended  as 
right.  Had  the  man,  with  the  * '  little  learning ' ' 
that  is  dangerous,  attempted  embellishment 
or  applied  ornament,  he  would  have  spoiled 
the  effect ;  for  ornateness  would  have  been 
out  of  place.  The  perfect  fitness  of  means 
to  end,  without  defect  and  without  excess, 
constituted  its  beauty;  and  its  beauty  was 
perceived  aesthetically,  as  a  quality  inherent 
in  the  form,  a  quality  which  apart  from  the 
practical  serviceableness  of  the  contrivance 
was  capable  of  communicating  pleasure.  So 
in  general,  when  the  inherent  needs  of  the 
work  give  shape  to  the  structure  or  contriv- 
ance, the  resulting  form  is  in  so  far  forth 
beautiful.  The  early  "horseless  carriages/'  in 
which  a  form  intended  for  one  use  was  grafted 
upon  a  different  purpose,  were  very  ugly.  To- 
day the  motor-car,  evolved  out  of  structural 
needs,  a  thing  complete  in  and  for  itself,  has  in 
its  lines  and  coherence  of  composition  certain 
elements  of  beauty.  In  his  "  Song  of  Speed," 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

Henley  has  demonstrated  that  the  motor- 
car, mechanical,  modern,  useful,  may  even  be 
material  for  poetry.  That  the  useful  is  not 
always  perceived  as  beautiful  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  design  which  has  shaped  the  work 
must  be  regarded  apart  from  the  material  ser- 
viceableness  of  the  object  itself.  Beauty  con- 
sists not  in  the  actual  material,  but  in  the 
unity  of  relations  which  the  object  embodies. 
We  appreciate  the  art  involved  in  the  making 
of  the  first  lock  and  key  only  as  we  look  be- 
yond the  merely  practical  usefulness  of  the 
device  and  so  apprehend  the  harmony  of  re- 
lations effected  through  its  construction.  As 
the  lock  and  key  serve  to  fasten  the  door, they 
are  useful ;  they  are  beautiful  as  they  manifest 
design  and  we  feel  their  harmony.  Beauty 
is  removed  from  practical  life,  not  because  it 
is  unrelated  to  life,  — just  the  reverse  of  that  is 
true, — but  because  the  enjoyment  of  beauty 
is  disinterested.  The  detachment  involved  in 
appreciation  is  a  detachment  from  material. 
The  appreciator  may  seem  to  be  a  looker-on 
at  life,  in  that  he  does  not  act  but  simply 
feels.  But  his  spirit  is  correspondingly  alert. 

186 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

In  the  measure  that  he  is  released  from  ser- 
vitude to  material  he  gives  free  play  to  his 
emotion. 

Although  beauty  is  founded  upon  design, 
design  is  not  the  whole  of  beauty.  Not  all 
objects  which  exhibit  equal  integrity  of  de- 
sign are  equally  beautiful.  The  beauty  of  a 
work  of  art  is  determined  by  the  degree  of 
emotion  which  impelled  its  creation  and  by 
the  degree  in  which  the  work  itself  is  able 
to  communicate  the  emotion  immediately. 
The  feeling  which  entered  into  the  making 
of  the  first  lock  and  key  was  simply  the  in- 
ventor's desire  for  such  a  device,  his  desire 
being  the  feeling  which  accompanied  his 
consciousness  of  his  need.  At  the  other  ex- 
treme is  the  emotion  such  as  attended  Michel- 
angelo's vision  of  his  "David  "  and  urged  his 
hand  as  he  set  his  chisel  to  the  unshaped 
waiting  block.  And  so  all  the  way  between. 
Many  pictures  are  executed  in  a  wholly  me- 
chanical spirit,  as  so  much  manufacture ;  and 
they  exhibit  correspondingly  little  beauty. 
Many  useful  things,  as  a  candle-stick,  a  pair 
of  andirons,  a  chair,  are  wrought  in  the  spirit 

187 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  art ;  into  them  goes  something  of  the 
maker's  joy  in  his  work;  they  become  the  ex- 
pression of  his  emotion:  and  they  are  so  far 
beautiful.  It  is  asserted  that  Millet's  "  An- 
gelus"  is  a  greater  picture  than  the  painting 
entitled  "War"  by  Franz  Stuck,  because  "the 
idea  of  peasants  telling  their  beads  is  more 
beautiful  than  the  idea  of  a  ruthless  destroyer 
only  in  so  far  as  it  is  morally  higher."  The 
moral  value  as  such  has  very  little  to  do  with 
it.  It  is  a  question  of  emotion.  If  Stuck  were 
to  put  on  canvas  his  idea  of  peasants  at  prayer 
and  if  Millet  had  phrased  in  pictorial  terms 
his  feeling  about  war,  there  is  little  doubt 
that  Millet's  painting  would  be  the  more 
telling  and  beautiful.  The  degree  of  beauty 
is  fixed  by  the  depth  of  the  man's  insight 
into  life  and  the  corresponding  intensity  of 
his  emotion. 

Beauty  is  not  limited  to  one  class  of  ob- 
ject or  experience  and  excluded  from  an- 
other. A  chair  may  be  beautiful,  although 
turned  to  common  use ;  a  picture  is  not  beau- 
tiful necessarily  because  it  is  a  picture.  "  No- 
thing out  of  its  place  is  good,  nothing  in  its 

188 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

place  is  bad,"  says  Whitman.  Whistler  speaks 
of  art  as  "seeking  and  finding  the  beautiful 
in  all  conditions  and  in  all  times,  as  did  her 
high  priest,  Rembrandt,  when  he  saw  pic- 
turesque grandeur  and  noble  dignity  in  the 
Jews'  quarter  of  Amsterdam,  and  lamented 
not  that  its  inhabitants  were  not  Greeks." 
The  beautiful  must  exhibit  an  integrity  of 
relations  within  itself,  and  it  must  be  in  in- 
tegral relation  with  its  surroundings.  The 
standard  of  beauty  varies  with  every  age,  with 
every  nation,  indeed  with  every  individual. 
As  beauty  is  not  in  the  object  itself,  but  is 
in  the  mind  which  integrates  the  relations 
which  the  object  manifests,  so  our  appre- 
ciation of  beauty  is  determined  by  our  indi- 
viduality. And  individuality  is  the  resultant 
of  many  forces.  The  self,  inexplicable  in 
essence,  is  the  product  of  inheritance,  and  is 
modified  by  environment  and  training.  More 
than  we  realize,  our  judgment  is  qualified  by 
tradition  and  habit  and  even  fashion.  Be- 
cause men  have  been  familiar  for  so  many 
centuries  with  the  idea  that  sculpture  should 
find  its  vehicle  in  white  marble,  the  know- 

189 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ledge  that  Greek  marbles  originally  were 
painted  comes  with  something  of  a  shock ; 
and  for  the  moment  they  have  difficulty  in 
persuading  themselves  that  a  Parthenon  frieze 
colored  could  possibly  be  beautiful.  Until 
within  comparatively  recent  years  the  French 
have  regarded  Shakespeare  as  a  barbarian. 
The  heroic  couplet,  which  was  the  last  word 
in  poetical  expression  in  the  age  of  Queen 
Anne,  we  consider  to-day  as  little  more  than 
a  mechanical  jingle.  Last  year's  fashions  in 
dress,  which  seemed  at  the  time  to  have  their 
merits,  are  this  year  amusingly  grotesque.  In 
our  judgment  of  beauty,  therefore,  allowance 
must  be  made  for  standards  which  merely 
are  imposed  upon  us  from  without.  It  is 
necessary  to  distinguish  between  a  formula 
and  the  reality.  As  far  as  possible  we  should 
seek  to  come  into  "original  relation"  with 
the  universe,  freshly  for  ourselves.  So  we 
must  return  upon  our  individual  conscious- 
ness, and  thus  determine  what  is  vitally  sig- 
nificant to  us.  For  the  man  who  would  ap- 
preciate beauty,  it  is  not  a  question  between 
this  or  that  "  school "  in  art,  whether  the 

190 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

truth  lies  with  the  classicists  or  the  roman- 
ticists ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  this  or  that  sub- 
ject  or  method  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others. 
Beauty  may  be  anywhere  or  everywhere.  It 
is  our  task  and  joy  to  find  it,  wherever  it  may 
be.  And  we  shall  find  it,  if  we  are  able  to 
recognize  it  and  we  hold  ourselves  respon- 
sive to  its  multitudinous  appeal. 

The  conception  of  beauty  which  limits  its 
manifestation  to  one  kind  of  experience  is 
so  far  false  and  leads  to  mischievous  accept- 
ances and  narrowing  rejections.  We  mistake 
the  pretty  for  the  beautiful  and  so  fail  of 
the  true  value  of  beauty ;  we  are  blind  to  the 
significance  which  all  nature  and  all  life,  in 
the  lowest  and  commonest  as  in  the  highest 
and  rarest,  hold  within  them.  "  If  beauty," 
says  Hamerton,  "  were  the  only  province  of 
art,  neither  painters  nor  etchers  would  find 
anything  to  occupy  them  in  the  foul  stream 
that  washes  the  London  wharfs."  By  beauty 
here  is  meant  the  merely  agreeable.  Pleasing 
the  river  may  not  be,  to  the  ordinary  man; 
but  for  the  poet  and  the  painter,  those  to 
whom  it  is  given  to  see  with  the  inner  eye, 

191 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

the  "  foul  stream  "  and  its  wharfs  may  be 
lighted  with  mysterious  and  tender  beauty. 

"  Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair : 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty : 
This  city  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning. 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendour,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 
The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 
Dear  God  !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep  ; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still !  " 

And  Whistler,  by  the  witchery  of  his  brush 
and  his  needle,  has  transmuted  the  confusion 
and  sordidness  and  filth  of  this  Thames-side 
into  exquisite  emotion.  The  essence  of 
beauty  is  harmony,  but  that  harmony  is  not 
to  be  reduced  to  rule  and  measure.  In  the 
very  chaos  of  the  Locomotive  Works  we  may 
feel  beauty ;  in  the  thrill  which  they  com- 
municate we  receive  access  of  power  and  we 
are,  more  largely,  more  universally.  The  har- 
mony which  is  beauty  is  that  unity  or  integ- 

192 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

rity  of  impression  by  force  of  which  we  are 
able  to  feel  significance  and  the  relation  of 
the  object  to  our  own  experience.  It  is  an 
error  to  suppose  that  beauty  must  be  racked 
on  a  procrustean  bed  of  formula.  Such  false 
conceptions  result  in  sham  art.  To  create  a 
work  which  shall  be  beautiful  it  is  not  ne- 
cessary to  "  smooth,  inlay,  and  clip,  and  fit." 
Beauty  is  not  imposed  upon  material  from 
without,  according  to  a  recipe ;  it  is  drawn 
out  from  within  by  the  integrating  power 
of  imagination.  Art  is  not  artificiality.  Art 
is  the  expression  of  vital  emotion  and  essen- 
tial significance.  The  beauty  of  architecture, 
for  example,  consists  not  in  applied  ornament 
but  in  structural  fitness  and  adaptability,  and 
grows  out  of  the  inherent  needs  of  the  work. 
The  cathedral-builders  of  old  time  did  not 
set  themselves  to  create  a  "  work  of  art." 
They  wanted  a  church;  and  it  was  a  church 
they  built.  It  is  we  who,  perceiving  the 
Tightness  of  their  achievement,  pronounce  it 
to  be  beautiful.  Beauty  is  not  manufactured, 
but  grows;  it  cannot  be  laid  on  as  ornament. 
Beauty  is  born  out  of  the  contact  of  the  spirit 

193 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  man  with  natural  forms,  that  contact  which 
gives  to  objects  their  significance. 

The  recognition  of  the  true  nature  of 
beauty  may  change  for  us  the  face  of  the 
world.  Some  things  are  universally  regarded 
as  beautiful  because  their  appeal  is  universal. 
There  are  passions,  joys,  aspirations,  com- 
mon to  all  the  race ;  and  the  forms  which 
objectify  these  emotions  are  beautiful  uni- 
versally. We  can  all  enter  into  the  feelings 
that  gather  about  a  group  of  children  dan- 
cing round  a  Maypole  in  the  Park;  but  in 
the  murk  and  din  and  demoniacal  activity  of 
the  Locomotive  Works  the  appeal  is  not  so 
obvious.  The  stupendous  workshops  become 
beautiful  to  me  as  my  being  merges  into  har- 
mony with  them  and  dilates  with  the  emo- 
tion of  intenser  and  fuller  life.  The  Sistine 
Madonna  is  generally  regarded  as  beautiful. 
But  what  is  the  beauty  in  the  unspeakable 
witch  on  the  canvas  of  Frans  Hals  ?  Har- 
mony of  color  and  of  composition  is  em- 
ployed by  Raphael  in  the  rendering  of  a  fig- 
ure and  in  the  expression  of  an  emotion  both 
of  which  relate  themselves  to  the  veneration 

194 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

of  mankind.  Maternity,  Christian  or  pagan, 
divine  or  human,  evokes  its  universal  tribute 
of  feeling.  On  Raphael's  canvas  complete 
harmony  is  made  visible  ;  and  the  beauty  of 
the  picture  for  us  is  measured  by  its  power  to 
stir  us.  In  the  painting  by  Frans  Hals  the 
subject  represented  is  in  itself  not  pleasing. 
The  technical  execution  of  the  picture  is 
masterly.  But  our  delight  goes  beyond  any 
enjoyment  of  the  skill  here  exhibited,  goes 
beyond  even  the  satisfaction  of  the  senses  in 
its  color  and  composition.  What  the  picture 
expresses  is  not  merely  the  visible  aspect  of 
this  woman,  but  the  painter's  own  sympathy 
and  appreciation.  He  saw  a  beauty  in  ugli- 
ness, a  beauty  to  which  we  were  blind,  for 
he  felt  the  significance  of  her  life,  the  eternal 
Tightness  to  herself  of  what  she  was.  His  joy 
in  this  inner  harmony  has  transfigured  the 
object  and  made  it  beautiful.  Beauty  pene- 
trates deeper  than  grace  and  comeliness;  it 
is  not  confined  to  the  pretty  and  agreeable. 
Indeed,  beauty  is  not  always  immediately 
pleasant,  but  is  received  often  with  pain.  The 
emotion  of  pleasure,  which  is  regarded  as  the 

195 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

necessary  concomitant  of  beauty,  ensues  as  we 
are  able  to  merge  ourselves  in  the  experience 
and  so  come  to  feel  its  ultimate  harmony. 
What  is  commonly  accepted  as  ugly,  as  shock- 
ing or  sordid,  becomes  beautiful  for  us  so 
soon  as  we  apprehend  its  inner  significance. 
Judged  by  the  canons  of  formal  beauty,  the 
sky-line  of  New  York  city,  seen  from  the 
North  River,  is  ugly  and  distressing.  But 
the  responsive  spirit,  reaching  ever  outward 
into  new  forms  of  feeling,  can  thrill  at  sight 
of  those  Titanic  structures  out-topping  the 
Palisades  themselves,  thrusting  their  square- 
ness adventurously  into  the  smoke-grayed 
air,  and  telling  the  triumph  of  man's  mind 
over  the  forces  of  nature  in  this  fulfillment 
of  the  needs  of  irrepressible  activity,  this 
expression  of  tremendous  actuality  and  life. 
Not  that  the  reaction  is  so  definitely  formu- 
lated in  the  moment  of  experience  ;  but  this 
is  something  of  what  is  felt.  The  discovery 
of  such  a  harmony  is  the  entrance  into  fuller 
living.  So  it  is  that  the  boundaries  of  beauty 
enlarge  with  the  expansion  of  the  individual 
spirit. 

196 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

To  extend  the  boundaries  of  beauty  by  the 
revelation  of  new  harmonies  is  the  function 
of  art.  With  the  ordinary  man,  the  plane  of 
feeling,  which  is  the  basis  of  appreciation,  is 
below  the  plane  of  his  attention  as  he  moves 
through  life  from  day  to  day.  As  a  clock 
may  be  ticking  in  the  room  quite  unheeded, 
and  then  suddenly  we  hear  it  because  our 
attention  is  called  to  it ;  so  only  that  emotion 
really  counts  to  us  as  experience  which  comes 
to  our  cognizance.  When  once  the  ordinary 
man  is  made  aware  of  the  underlying  plane 
of  feeling,  the  whole  realm  of  appreciation  is 
opened  to  him  by  his  recognition  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  beauty  which  life  may  hold.  Con- 
sciously to  recognize  that  forces  are  operat- 
ing which  lie  behind  the  surface  aspect  of 
things  is  to  open  ourselves  to  the  play  of  these 
forces.  With  persons  in  whom  intellect  is 
dominant  and  the  controlling  power,  the 
primary  need  is  to  understand ;  and  for  such, 
first  to  know  is  to  be  helped  finally  to  feel. 
To  comprehend  that  there  is  a  soul  in  every 
fact  and  that  within  material  objects  reside 
meanings  for  the  spirit,  or  beauty,  is  to  be 

197 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

made  more  sensitive  to  their  influence.  With 
the  artist,  however,  the  case  is  different.  At 
the  moment  of  creation  he  is  little  conscious 
of  the  purport  of  the  work  to  which  he  sets 
his  hand.  He  is  not  concerned,  as  we  have 
been,  with  the  "  why  "  of  beauty;  from  the 
concrete  directly  to  the  concrete  is  his  pro- 
gress. Life  comes  to  him  not  as  thought  but 
as  emotion.  He  is  moved  by  actual  imme- 
diate contact  with  the  world  about  him, — 
by  the  sight  of  a  landscape,  by  the  mood 
of  an  hour  or  place,  by  the  power  of  some 
personality;  it  may  be,  too,  a  welter  of  recol- 
lected sensations  and  impressions  that  plays 
upon  his  spirit.  The  resultant  emotion,  not 
reasoned  about  but  nevertheless  directed  to 
a  definite  end,  takes  shape  in  external  con- 
crete forms  which  are  works  of  art.  Just 
because  he  is  so  quick  to  feel  the  emotional 
value  of  life  he  is  an  artist;  and  much  of  his 
power  as  an  artist  derives  from  the  concrete- 
ness  of  his  emotion.  The  artist  is  the  crea- 
tive mind,  creative  in  this  sense,  that  in  the 
outward  shows  of  things  he  feels  their  in  ward 
and  true  relations,  and  by  new  combinations 

198 


BEAUTY  AND  COMMON  LIFE 

of  material  elements  he  reembodies  his  feel- 
ing in  forms  whose  message  is  addressed  to 
the  spirit.  The  reason  why  Millet  painted 
the  "  Sower  "  was  that  he  felt  the  beauty  of 
this  peasant  figure  interpreted  as  significance 
and  life.  And  it  is  this  significance  and  life, 
in  which  we  are  made  to  share,  that  his  pic- 
ture is  designed  to  express. 

Experience  comes  to  us  in  fragments ;  the 
surface  of  the  world  throws  back  to  us  but 
broken  glimpses.  In  the  perspective  of  a 
lifetime  the  fragments  flow  together  into 
order,  and  we  dimly  see  the  purpose  of  our 
being  here;  in  moments  of  illumination  and 
deeper  insight  a  glimpse  may  disclose  a  sud- 
den harmony,  and  the  brief  segment  of  na- 
ture's circle  becomes  beautiful.  For  then  is 
revealed  the  shaping  principle.  Within  the 
fact,  behind  the  surface,  are  apprehended  the 
relations  of  which  the  fact  and  the  surface 
are  the  expression.  The  rhythm  thus  dis- 
covered wakens  an  accordant  rhythm  in  the 
spirit  of  man.  The  moment  gives  out  its 
meaning  as  man  and  nature  merge  together 
in  the  inclusive  harmony.  If  the  human 

199 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

spirit  were  infinite  in  comprehension,  we 
should  receive  all  things  as  beautiful,  for  we 
should  apprehend  their  Tightness  and  their 
harmony.  To  our  finite  perception,  however, 
design  is  not  always  evident,  for  it  is  overlaid 
and  confounded  with  other  elements  which 
are  not  at  the  moment  fused.  Just  here  is 
the  office  of  art.  For  art  presents  a  harmony 
liberated  from  all  admixture  of  conflicting 
details  and  purged  of  all  accidents,  thus  ren- 
dering the  single  meaning  salient.  To  com- 
pel disorder  into  order  and  so  reveal  new 
beauty  is  the  achievement  of  the  artist.  The 
world  is  commonplace  or  fraught  with  di- 
vinest  meanings,  according  as  we  see  it  so. 
To  art  we  turn  for  revelation,  knowing  that 
ideals  of  beauty  may  be  many  and  that  beauty 
may  manifest  itself  in  many  forms. 


VIII 

THE    ARTS    OF    FORM 

maker  of  the  first  bowl  moulds  the 
-••  plastic  clay  into  the  shape  best  adapted 
to  its  purpose,  a  vessel  to  hold  water,  from 
which  he  can  drink  easily ;  the  half-globe 
rather  than  the  cube  affords  the  greatest  hold- 
ing capacity  with  the  least  expenditure  of 
material.  He  finds  now  that  the  form  itself 
—  over  and  above  the  practical  serviceable- 
ness  of  the  bowl  —  gives  him  pleasure. 
With  a  pointed  stick  or  bit  of  flint  he  traces 
in  the  yielding  surface  a  flowing  line  or  an 
ordered  series  of  dots  or  crosses,  allowing 
free  play  to  his  fancy  and  invention.  The 
design  does  not  resemble  anything  else,  nor 
does  it  relate  itself  to  any  object  external 
to  the  maker ;  it  has  no  meaning  apart  from 
the  pleasure  which  it  gave  him  as  he  con- 
ceived and  traced  it,  and  the  pleasure  it  now 

201 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

gives  him  to  look  at  it.  To  another  man  who 
sees  the  bowl,  its  form  and  its  decoration 
afford  likewise  a  double  pleasure :  there  is 
first  the  satisfaction  of  senses  and  mind  in 
the  contemplation  of  harmonious  form  and 
rhythmic  pattern  ;  and  second,  there  is  com- 
municated to  him  a  feeling  of  the  maker's 
delight  in  his  handiwork,  and  sympatheti- 
cally and  imaginatively  the  beholder  real- 
izes that  delight  in  his  own  experience. 

I  am  walking  with  a  friend  along  a  road 
which  climbs  a  wooded  hillside.  A  few 
steps  bring  us  to  the  top  and  the  edge  of  a 
clearing.  There,  suddenly  a  sweep  of  coun- 
try is  rolled  out  before  us.  A  quick  intake 
of  the  breath,  and  then  the  cry,  "  Ah  !  " 
Consciousness  surges  back  over  me,  and  turn- 
ing to  my  friend,  I  exclaim,  "  See  the  line 
of  those  hills  over  there  across  the  tender 
sky  and  those  clouds  tumbling  above  them ; 
see  how  the  hills  dip  down  into  the  mea- 
dows ;  look  at  the  lovely  group  of  willows 
along  the  bank  of  the  river,  how  graciously 
they  come  in,  and  then  that  wash  of  pur- 
ple light  over  every  thing  ! "  My  simple  cry, 

202 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

"  Ah,"  was  the  expression  of  emotion,  the 
unconscious,  involuntary  expression ;  it  was 
not  art.  It  did  not  formulate  my  emotion 
definitely,  and  although  it  was  an  expres- 
sion of  emotion,  it  had  no  power  to  com- 
municate the  special  quality  of  it.  So  soon, 
however,  as  I  composed  the  elements  in  the 
landscape,  which  stimulated  my  emotion, 
into  a  distinct  and  coherent  whole  and  by 
means  of  that  I  tried  to  convey  to  my  friend 
something  of  what  I  was  feeling,  my  ex- 
pression tended  to  become  art.  My  medium 
of  expression  happened  to  be  words.  If  I  had 
been  alone  and  wanted  to  take  home  with  me 
a  record  of  my  impression  of  the  landscape, 
a  pencil -sketch  of  the  little  composition 
might  have  served  to  indicate  the  sources 
of  my  feeling  and  to  suggest  its  quality. 
Whether  in  words  or  in  line  and  mass,  my 
work  would  be  in  a  rudimentary  form  a 
work  of  representative  art.  The  objective 
fact  of  the  landscape  which  I  point  out  to 
my  friend  engages  his  interest ;  his  pleasure 
derives  from  those  aspects  of  it  which  my 
emotion  emphasizes  and  which  constitute 

203 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

its  beauty ;  and  something  of  the  same  emo- 
tion that  I  felt  he  realizes  in  his  own  ex- 
perience. 

The  impulse  to  expression  which  fulfills 
itself  in  a  work  of  art  is  directed  in  general 
by  one  of  two  motives,  —  the  motive  of  re- 
presentation and  the  motive  of  pure  form. 
These  two  motives  are  coexistent  with  hu- 
man activity  itself.  The  earliest  vestiges  of 
prehistoric  races  and  the  remains  of  the  re- 
motest civilizations  are  witnesses  of  man's 
desire  to  imitate  and  record,  and  also  of  his 
pleasure  in  harmony  of  form.  Certain  caves 
in  France,  inhabited  by  man  some  thousands 
of  years  before  history  begins,  have  yielded 
up  reindeer  horns  and  bones,  carved  with  re- 
liefs and  engraved  with  drawings  of  mam- 
moths, reindeer,  and  fish.  On  the  walls  and 
roofs  of  these  caves  are  paintings  in  bright 
colors  of  animals,  rendered  with  correctness 
and  animation.  Flint  axes  of  a  still  remoter 
epoch  "  are  carved  with  great  dexterity  by 
means  of  small  chips  flaked  off  the  stone, 
and  show  a  regularity  of  outline  which  tes- 
tifies to  the  delight  of  primitive  man  in  sym- 

204 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

metry.' ' '  Burial  mounds,  of  unknown  an- 
tiquity, and  the  rude  stone  monuments  such 
as  Stonehenge  and  the  dolmens  of  Brit- 
tany and  Wales,  emerging  out  of  prehistoric 
dawns,  are  evidence  of  man's  striving  after 
architectural  unity  in  design  and  harmony 
of  proportion. 

The  existence  of  these  two  separate  mo- 
tives which  impel  creation,  man's  desire  to 
imitate  and  his  delight  in  harmony,  gives 
rise  to  a  division  of  the  arts  into  two  general 
classes,  namely,  the  representative  arts  and 
the  arts  of  pure  form.  The  representative  arts 
comprise  painting  and  sculpture,  and  litera- 
ture in  its  manifestations  of  the  drama,  fiction, 
and  dramatic  and  descriptive  poetry.  These 
arts  draw  their  subjects  from  nature  and  hu- 
man life,  from  the  world  external  to  the  art- 
ist. The  arts  of  form  comprise  architecture 
and  music,  and  that  limitless  range  of  human 
activities  in  design  and  pattern-making  for 
embellishment  —  including  also  the  whole 
category  of  "useful  arts  "  —  which  may  be 

1  S.  Reinach,  The  Story  of  Art  throughout  the  Ages,  chap- 
ter i. 

205 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

subsumed  under  the  comprehensive  term 
decoration.  In  these  arts  the  "subject "  is  self- 
constituted  and  does  not  derive  its  signifi- 
cance from  its  likeness  to  any  object  exter- 
nal to  it ;  the  form  itself  is  the  subject. 
Lyric  poetry  stands  midway  between  the  two 
classes.  It  is  the  expression  of"  inner  states," 
but  it  externalizes  itself  in  terms  of  the  outer 
world.  It  has  a  core  of  thought,  and  it  em- 
ploys images  from  nature  which  can  be  visu- 
alized, and  it  recalls  sounds  whose  echo  can 
be  wakened  in  imaginative  memory. 

"Hark!  hark!  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes ; 
With  everything  that  pretty  bin, 
My  lady  sweet,  arise! 
Arise,  arise ! " 

The  intellectual  and  sensuous  elements  which 
lyric  poetry  embodies  are  finally  submerged 
under  the  waves  of  emotional  stimulus  which 
flow  from  the  form  as  form.  Such  poetry  does 

206 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

not  depend  upon  the  fact  of  representation 
for  its  meaning ;  the  very  form  itself,  as  in 
music,  is  its  medium  of  communicating  the 
emotion.  Art,  therefore,  to  phrase  the  same 
matter  in  slightly  different  terms,  has  a  sub- 
jective and  an  objective  aspect.  In  the  one 
case,  the  artist  projects  his  feeling  into  the 
forms  which  he  himself  creates ;  in  the  other 
case,  the  forms  external  to  him,  as  nature 
and  human  life,  inspire  the  emotion,  and 
these  external  forms  the  artist  reproduces, 
with  of  course  the  necessary  modifications, 
as  the  symbol  and  means  of  expression  of  his 
emotion. 

The  distinction  between  the  representa- 
tive arts  and  the  arts  of  form  is  not  ultimate, 
nor  does  it  exclude  one  class  wholly  from 
the  other  ;  it  defines  a  general  tendency  and 
serves  to  mark  certain  differences  in  original 
motive  and  in  the  way  in  which  the  two  kinds 
of  work  may  be  received  and  appreciated. 
In  actual  works  of  art  themselves,  though 
they  differ  as  to  origin  and  function,  the  line 
of  division  cannot  be  sharply  drawn.  The 
dance  may  be  an  art  of  form  or  a  representa- 

207 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

tive  art  according  as  it  embodies  the  rhythms 
of  pure  movement  or  as  it  mimetically  fig- 
ures forth  dramatic  ideas.  Painting,  as  in  the 
frescoes  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  and  the  wall 
paintings  of  Tintoretto  and  Vei  onese  in  the 
Ducal  Palace  of  Venice,  may  be  employed  in 
the  service  of  decoration.  Decoration,  as  in 
architectural  sculpture  and  in  patterns  for 
carpets  and  wall-coverings,  often  draws  its 
motives  from  nature,  such  as  leaves,  flowers, 
fruits,  and  animals ;  but  when  the  function 
of  the  work  is  decorative  and  not  represen- 
tative, the  naturalistic  and  graphic  character 
of  the  subject  is  subordinated  to  the  purposes 
of  abstract  and  formal  design.  A  picture,  on 
the  other  hand,  which  is  frankly  representa- 
tive in  purpose,  must  submit  its  composition 
and  color-harmony  to  the  requirements  of 
unity  in  design ;  in  a  sense  it  must  make  a 
pattern.  And  a  statue,  as  the  "  Victory  of 
Samothrace,"  bases  its  ultimate  appeal,  not 
upon  the  fact  of  representation,  but  upon 
complete,  rhythmic,  beautiful  form. 

To  the  appreciator  the  arts  of  form  carry 
a  twofold  significance.    There  is  first  the 

208 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

pleasure  which  derives  from  the  contempla- 
tion and  reception  of  a  harmony  of  pure  form, 
including  harmony  of  color,  of  line,  and  of  flat 
design  as  well  as  form  in  the  round,  a  pleasure 
of  the  senses  and  the  mind.  Second,  works 
of  art  in  this  category,  as  they  are  the  expres- 
sion for  the  artist  of  his  emotion,  become 
therefore  the  manifestation  to  the  appreci- 
ator  and  means  of  communication  of  that 
emotion. 

Man's  delight  in  order,  in  unity,  in  har- 
mony, rhythm,  and  balance,  is  inborn.  The 
possession  of  these  qualities  by  an  object 
constitutes  its  form.  Form,  in  the  sense  of 
unity  and  totality  of  relations,  is  not  to  be 
confounded  with  mere  regularity.  It  may 
assume  all  degrees  of  divergence  from  geo- 
metric precision,  all  degrees  of  variety, 
ranging  from  the  visual  perfectness  of  the 
Parthenon  to  the  sublime  and  triumphant 
inconsequence  of  the  sky-line  of  New  York 
city.  It  may  manifest  all  degrees  of  com- 
plexity from  a  cup  to  a  cathedral  or  from 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home  "  to  Tschaikowski's 
"  Pathetic  Symphony.'*  Whatever  the  ele- 

209 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

ments  and  the  incidents,  our  sense  of  order  in 
the  parts  and  of  singleness  of  impression  en- 
dows the  object  with  its  form.  The  form  as 
we  apprehend  it  of  an  object  constitutes  its 
beauty,  its  capability  to  arouse  and  to  de- 
light. 

Because  of  the  essential  make-up  of  man's 
mind  and  spirit,  powers  that  are  innate  and  de- 
termined by  forces  still  beyond  the  scope  of 
analysis,  the  perception  of  a  harmony  of  re- 
lations, which  is  beauty,  is  attended  with 
pleasure,  a  pleasure  that  is  felt  and  cannot  be 
explained.  This  inborn,  inexplicable  delight 
is  at  once  the  origin  of  the  arts  of  form  and 
the  basis  of  our  appreciation.  Each  art,  as  the 
fashioning  of  objects  of  use,  as  decoration, 
architecture,  and  music,  is  governed  by  its 
own  intrinsic,  inherent  laws  and  rests  its 
appeal  upon  man's  pleasure  in  form.  There 
is  no  standard  external  to  the  laws  of  the  art 
itself  by  which  to  judge  the  Tightness  and 
the  beauty  of  the  individual  work.  In  the 
arts  of  use  and  in  decoration  and  architecture, 
the  beauty  of  a  work,  as  the  beauty  of  a  chair, 
as  in  the  ordering  and  appointments  of  a 

2IO 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

room,  as  the  beauty  of  a  temple,  a  theatre, 
a  dwelling,  derives  primarily  from  the  fitness 
of  the  object  to  its  function,  and  finally  from 
the  rhythm  of  its  lines  and  the  harmony  of 
its  masses  and  proportions,  —  its  total  form. 
A  chair  which  cannot  be  sat  in  may  be  in- 
teresting and  agreeable  to  look  at,  but  it  is 
not  truly  beautiful ;  for  then  it  is  not  a  chair 
but  a  curiosity,  a  bijou,  and  a  superfluity ; 
to  be  beautiful  it  must  be  first  of  all  frankly 
and  practically  a  chair.  A  living-room  which 
cannot  be  lived  in  with  comfort  and  rest- 
fulness  and  peace  of  mind  is  not  a  living- 
room,  but  a  museum  or  a  concentrated  de- 
partment store  ;  at  best  it  is  only  an  inclosed 
space.  A  beautiful  building  declares  its  func- 
tion and  use,  satisfies  us  with  the  logic  and 
coherence  of  its  parts,  and  delights  us  with 
its  reticence  or  its  boldness,  its  simplicity  or 
its  inventiveness,  in  fine,  its  personality,  as 
expressed  in  its  parts  and  their  confluence 
into  an  ordered,  self-contained,  and  self-suf- 
ficing whole.  Music,  using  sound  for  its 
material,  is  a  pattern-weaving  in  tones.  The 
power  of  music  to  satisfy  and  delight  resides 

211 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

in  the  sensuous  value  of  its  material  and  in 
the  character  of  its  pattern  as  form,  the  bal- 
ance and  contrast  of  tonal  relations,  the  fold- 
ing and  unfolding  of  themes,  their  develop- 
ment and  progress  to  the  final  compelling 
unity-in-variety  which  constitutes  its  form 
and  which  in  its  own  inherent  and  self- 
sufficing  way  is  made  the  expression  of  the 
composer's  emotion  and  musical  idea.  Lyric 
poetry  is  the  fitting  of  rhythmic,  melodious, 
colored  words  to  the  emotion  within,  to  the 
point  where  the  very  form  itself  becomes 
the  meaning,  and  the  essence  and  mystery 
of  the  song  are  in  the  singing.  Beauty  is 
harmony  materialized;  it  is  emotion  ordered 
and  made  visible,  audible,  tangible.  If  in 
the  arts  of  form  we  seek  further  a  standard 
of  truth,  their  truth  is  not  found  in  their 
relation  to  any  external  verity,  but  is  deter- 
mined by  their  correspondence  with  inner 
experience. 

In  the  category  of  the  arts  of  form  the 
single  work  is  to  be  received  in  itsentirety  and 
integrity  as  form.  The  whole,  however,  may 
be  resolved  into  its  parts,  and  the  individual 

212 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

details  maybe  interesting  in  themselves.  Thus 
into  decorative  patterns  are  introduced  ele- 
ments of  meaning  which  attach  themselves 
to  the  world  and  experience  external  to  the 
artist.  Many  ornamental  motives,  like  the 
zigzag  and  the  egg-and-dart,  for  example,  had 
originally  a  symbolic  value.  Sometimes  they 
are  drawn  from  primitive  structures  and  fab- 
rics, as  the  checker-board  pattern,  with  its 
likeness  to  the  plaitings  of  rush  mattings, 
and  the  volute  and  spiral  ornaments,  which 
recall  the  curves  and  involutions  of  wattle  and 
wicker  work.  Again,  decoration  may  employ 
in  its  service  details  that  in  themselves  are 
genuinely  representative  art.  The  frieze  of 
the  Parthenon  shows  in  relief  a  procession  of 
men  and  women  and  horses  and  chariots  and 
animals.  The  sculptures  of  Gothic  churches 
represent  men  and  women,  and  the  carvings 
of  mouldings,  capitals,  and  traceries  are  based 
on  naturalistic  motives,  taking  their  designs 
from  leaves  and  flowers.  The  essential  func- 
tion of  ornament  is  to  emphasize  form  and  not 
to  obscure  it,  though  nowadays  in  machine- 
made  things  a  kind  of  pseudo-embellishment 

213 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

is  laid  on  to  distract  attention  from  the  bad- 
ness and  meaninglessness  of  the  form ;  in  true 
decoration  the  representative  elements  are 
subordinated  to  the  formal  character  of  the 
whole.  The  representative  interest  may  be 
enjoyed  separately  and  in  detail;  but  finally 
the  graphic  purpose  yields  to  the  decorative, 
and  the  details  take  their  place  as  parts  of 
the  total  design.  Thus  a  Gothic  cathedral 
conveys  its  complete  and  true  impression  first 
and  last  as  form.  Midway  we  may  set  our- 
selves to  a  reading  of  the  details.  The  figure 
of  this  saint  on  the  jamb  or  the  archivolt 
of  the  portal  is  expressive  of  such  simple 
piety  and  enthusiasm !  In  this  group  on  the 
tympanum  what  animation  and  spirit!  This 
moulding  of  leaves  and  blossoms  is  cut  with 
such  loving  fidelity  and  exquisite  feeling  for 
natural  truth !  But  at  the  last  the  separate 
members  fulfill  their  appointed  office  as  they 
reveal  the  supreme  function  of  the  living  total 
form. 

Music,  too,  in  some  of  its  manifestations, 
as  in  song,  the  opera,  and  programme  music, 
has  a  representative  and  illustrative  charac- 

214 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

ter.  In  Chopin's  "Funeral  March"  we  hear 
the  tolling  of  church  bells,  and  it  is  easy  to 
visualize  the  slow,  straggling  file  of  mourn- 
ers following  the  bier;  the  composition  here 
has  a  definite  objective  base  drawn  from  ex- 
ternal fact,  and  the  "  idea  "  is  not  exclusively 
musical,  but  admits  an  infusion  of  pictorial 
and  literary  elements.  In  listening  to  the  love 
duet  of  the  second  act  of  "Tristan,"  although 
the  lovers  are  before  us  in  actual  presence  on 
the  stage,  I  find  myself  involuntarily  closing 
my  eyes,  for  the  music  is  so  personal  and  so 
spiritualized,  it  is  in  and  of  itself  so  intensely 
the  realization  of  the  emotion,  that  the  objec- 
tive presentment  of  it  by  the  actors  becomes 
unnecessary  and  is  almost  an  intrusion.  The 
representative,  figurative  element  in  music 
may  be  an  added  interest,  but  its  appeal  is  intel- 
lectual; if  as  we  hear  the  "Funeral  March," 
we  say  to  ourselves,  This  is  so  and  so,  and, 
Here  they  do  this  or  that,  we  are  thinking 
rather  than  feeling.  Music  is  the  immediate 
expression  of  emotion  communicated  imme- 
diately; and  the  composition  will  not  per- 
fectly satisfy  unless  it  is  music,  compelling  all 

215 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

relations  of  melody,  harmony,  and  rhythm 
into  a  supreme  and  triumphant  order. 

Whereas  the  representative  arts  are  based 
upon  objective  fact,  drawing  their  "  subjects  " 
from  nature  and  life  external  to  the  artist ; 
in  decoration,  in  architecture,  and  in  mu- 
sic the  artist  creates  his  own  forms  as  the 
projection  of  his  emotion  and  the  means  of 
its  expression.  Richard  Wagner,  referring 
to  the  composition  of  his  "Tristan,"  writes: 
"Here,  in  perfect  trustfulness,  I  plunged  into 
the  inner  depth  of  soul  events,  and  from  out 
this  inmost  centre  of  the  world  I  fearlessly 
built  up  its  outer  form.  .  .  .  Life  and  death, 
the  whole  import  and  existence  of  the  outer 
world,  here  hang  on  nothing  but  the  inner 
movements  of  the  soul.  The  whole  affect- 
ing Action  comes  about  for  the  reason  only 
that  the  inmost  soul  demands  it,  and  steps 
to  light  with  the  very  shape  foretokened  in 
the  inner  shrine."  The  form,  thus  self-con- 
stituted, has  the  power  to  delight  us,  and  the 
work  is  at  the  same  time  the  expression  of 
emotion.  The  arts  of  form  please  us  with 
the  pleasure  that  attends  the  perception  of 

216 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

formal  beauty ;  but  this  pleasure  does  not 
exhaust  their  capability  to  minister  to  us. 
What  differentiates  art  from  manufacture 
is  the  element  of  personal  expression.  Born 
out  of  need,  whether  the  need  be  physical 
or  spiritual,  fulfilling  the  urge  to  expression, 
a  work  of  art  embodies  its  maker's  delight 
in  creating.  Correspondingly,  beyond  our 
immediate  enjoyment  of  the  work  as  form, 
we  feel  something  of  what  the  man  felt 
who  was  impelled  to  create  it.  His  handi- 
work, his  pattern,  his  composition,  becomes 
the  means  of  communicating  to  us  his  emo- 
tional experience. 

Obviously  the  significance  of  any  work 
is  determined  primarily  by  the  intensity  and 
scope  of  emotion  which  has  prompted  it. 
The  creation  of  works  of  art  involves  all 
degrees  of  intention,  from  the  hut  in  the 
wilderness  rudely  thrown  together,  whose 
purpose  was  shelter,  to  a  Gothic  cathedral,  in 
its  multitudinousness  eloquent  of  man's  wor- 
ship and  aspiration.  The  man  who  moulded 
the  first  bowl,  adapting  its  form  as  closely  as 
possible  to  its  use  and  shaping  its  proportions 

217 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

for  his  own  pleasure  to  satisfy  his  sense  of 
harmony  and  rhythm,  differs  from  the  build- 
ers of  the  Parthenon  only  in  the  degree  of 
intensity  of  his  inspiring  emotion  and  in  the 
measure  of  his  controlling  thought.  The 
beauty  of  accomplished  form  of  cathedral 
and  of  temple  is  compelling  ;  and  we  may 
forget  that  they  rose  out  of  need.  Both  hut 
and  bowl  are  immediately  useful,  and  their 
beauty  is  not  so  evident,  —  that  little  touch 
of  feeling  which  wakens  a  response  in  us. 
But  in  their  adaptation  to  their  function  they 
become  significant;  the  satisfaction  which 
accompanies  expression  is  communicated  to 
us  as  we  apprehend  in  the  work  the  crea- 
tor's intention  and  we  realize  in  ourselves 
what  the  creation  of  it  meant  to  him  as  the 
fulfillment  of  his  need  and  the  utterance  of 
his  emotion. 

So  the  expressive  power  of  an  individ- 
ual work  is  conditioned  originally  by  the 
amount  of  feeling  that  enters  into  the  mak- 
ing of  it.  Every  phrase  of  a  Beethoven  sym- 
phony is  saturated  with  emotion,  and  the 
work  leads  us  into  depths  and  up  to  heights 

218 


THE  ARTS  OF  FORM 

of  universal  experience,  disclosing  to  us  tortu- 
ous ways  and  infinite  vistas  of  the  possibilities 
of  human  feeling.  A  simple  earthen  j  ug  may 
bear  the  impress  of  loving  fingers,  and  the 
crudely  turned  form  may  be  eloquent  of  the 
caress  of  its  maker.  So  we  come  to  value 
even  in  the  humblest  objects  of  use  this  au- 
tographic character,  which  is  the  gate  of  en- 
trance into  the  experience  of  the  men  who 
fashioned  them.  Every  maker  strives  toward 
perfection,  the  completest  realization  of  his 
ideal  within  his  power  of  execution.  But 
the  very  shortcomings  of  his  work  are  sig- 
nificant as  expressive  of  what  he  felt  and 
was  groping  after;  they  are  so  significant 
that  by  a  curious  perversion,  machinery, 
which  in  our  civilized  day  has  supplanted 
the  craftsman,  tries  by  mechanical  means  to 
reproduce  the  roughness  and  supposed  im- 
perfections of  hand  work.  Music  is  the  con- 
summate art,  in  which  the  form  and  the 
content  are  one  and  inextricable;  its  me- 
dium is  the  purest,  least  alloyed  means  of  ex- 
pression of  instant  emotion.  Architecture,  in 
its  harmonies  and  rhythms,  the  gathering 

219 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

up  of  details  into  the  balanced  and  perfect 
whole,  partakes  of  the  nature  of  music.  But 
the  arts  of  use  and  decoration  also  have  their 
message  for  the  spirit.  There  is  no  object 
fashioned  by  the  hand  of  man  so  humble 
that  it  may  not  embody  a  true  thought  and 
a  sincere  delight.  There  is  no  pattern  or  de- 
sign so  simple  and  so  crude  that  it  may  not 
be  the  overflow  of  some  human  spirit,  a  mind 
and  heart  touched  to  expression. 


IX 

REPRESENTATION 

BEFORE  me  is  a  little  bowl  of  old  Sat- 
suma.  As  I  look  at  it  there  wakens  in 
me  a  responsive  rhythm,  and  involuntarily 
my  fingers  move  as  if  to  caress  its  suave  and 
lovely  lines.  The  rich  gold  and  mingled 
mellow  browns  of  its  surface  pattern  intri- 
cately woven  are  a  gracious  harmony  and  a 
delight.  Gradually,  as  I  continue  to  look  on 
it,  a  feeling  is  communicated  to  me  of  the 
maker's  own  joy  in  his  work ;  and  the  bowl, 
its  harmonies  and  rhythms,  and  all  that  it 
expresses,  become  part  of  me.  There  it  is, 
complete  in  itself,  gathering  up  and  contain- 
ing within  itself  the  entire  experience.  My 
thoughts,  sensations,  feelings  do  not  go  be- 
yond the  bowl. 

Another  time  I  am  standing  in  the  hall  of 
the  Academy  in  Florence.  At  the  end  of  the 
corridor  towers  a  superb  form.  I  see  that  it 

221 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

is  the  figure  of  a  youth.  His  left  hand  holds 
a  sling  drawn  across  his  shoulder ;  his  right 
arm  hangs  by  his  side,  his  hand  grasping  a 
pebble  close  to  his  thigh ;  calm  and  confi- 
dent, his  head  erect,  his  strength  held  in  leash 
waiting  to  be  loosed,  he  fronts  the  oncoming 
of  the  foe.  The  statue  is  the  presentation  of 
noble  form,  and  it  wakens  in  me  an  accord- 
ant rhythm  ;  I  feel  in  myself  something  of 
what  youthful  courage,  life,  and  conscious 
power  mean.  But  my  experience  does  not 

!stop  there.  The  statue  is  not  only  presenta- 
tion but  representation.  It  figures  forth  a 
youth,  David,  the  Hebrew  shepherd -boy, 
and  he  stands  awaiting  the  Philistine.  I  have 
read  his  story,  I  have  my  own  mental  image 
of  him,  and  about  his  personality  cluster  many 
thoughts.  To  what  Michelangelo  shows  me 
I  add  what  I  already  know.  Recognition, 
memory,  knowledge,  facts  and  ideas,  a  whole 
store  of  associations  allied  with  my  previous 
experience,  mingle  with  my  instant  emo- 
tion in  its  presence.  The  sculptor,  unlike  the 
potter,  has  not  created  his  own  form ;  the 
subject  of  his  work  exists  outside  of  him  in 

222 


REPRESENTATION 

nature.  He  uses  the  subject  for  his  own  ends, 
but  in  his  treatment  of  it  he  is  bound  by  cer- 
tain responsibilities  to  external  truth.  His 
work  as  it  stands  is  not  completely  self-con- 
tained, but  is  linked  with  the  outer  world ; 
and  my  appreciation  of  it  is  affected  by  this 
reference  to  extrinsic  fact. 

An  artist  is  interested  in  some  scene  in  na- 
ture or  a  personality  or  situation  in  human 
life  ;  it  moves  him.  As  the  object  external  to 
him  is  the  stimulus  of  his  emotion  and  is 
associated  with  it,  so  he  uses  the  object  as  the 
symbol  of  his  experience  and  means  of 
expression  of  his  emotion.  Here,  then,  the 
feeling,  to  express  which  the  work  is  created, 
gathers  about  a  subject,  which  can  be  recog- 
nized intellectually,  and  the  fact  of  the  sub- 
ject is  received  as  in  a  measure  separate  from 
the  feeling  which  flows  from  it.  In  a  paint- 
ing of  a  landscape,  we  recognize  as  the  basis 
of  the  total  experience  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
landscape,  so  much  water  and  field  and  sky  ; 
and  then  we  yield  ourselves  to  the  beauty  of 
the  landscape,  the  emotion  with  which  the 
artist  suffuses  the  material  objects  and  so  trans- 

223 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

figures  them.  Into  representative  art,  there- 
fore, there  enters  an  element  not  shared  by 
the  arts  of  pure  form,  the  element  of  the  sub- 
ject, carrying  with  it  considerations  of  ob- 
jective truth  and  of  likeness  to  external  fact. 
Toward  the  understanding  of  the  total  scope 
of  a  picture  or  a  statue,  and  by  inference  and 
application  of  the  principles,  toward  the  un- 
derstanding of  literature  as  well,  it  may  help 
us  if  we  determine  the  relation  of  beauty  to 
truth  and  the  function  and  value  of  the  sub- 
ject in  representative  art. 

The  final  significance  of  a  work  of  art  is 
beauty,  received  as  emotional  experience. 
Nature  becomes  beautiful  to  us  at  the  point 
where  it  manifests  a  harmony  to  which  we 
feel  ourselves  attuned.  At  the  moment  of  en- 
joyment we  unconsciously  project  our  per- 
sonality into  this  harmony  outside  of  us,  iden- 
tifying ourselves  with  it  and  finding  it  at  that 
instant  the  expression  of  something  toward 
which  we  reach  and  aspire.  When  we  come 
consciously  to  reason  about  our  experience, 
we  see  that  the  harmony  external  to  us  which 
we  feel  as  the  extension  of  ourselves  does  not 

224 


REPRESENTATION 

stop  with  the  actual  material  itself  of  nature, 
but  emanates  from  it  as  the  expression  of  na- 
ture's spirit.  The  harmony  is  a  harmony  of 
relations,  made  visible  through  material,  and 
significant  to  us  and  beautiful  in  the  measure 
that  we  respond  to  it. 

It  is  the  beauty  of  the  object,  its  signifi- 
cance for  the  spirit,  that  primarily  moves  the 
artist  to  expression.  Why  one  landscape  and 
not  another  impels  him  to  render  it  upon 
his  canvas  is  not  to  be  explained.  This  im- 
pulse to  immediate  and  concrete  utterance 
is  inspiration.  And  inspiration  would  seem 
to  be  a  confluence  of  forces  outside  of  the 
individual  consciousness  or  will,  focused  at 
the  instant  into  desire,  which  becomes  the 
urge  to  creation.  "The  mind  in  creation," 
says  Shelley,  "  is  as  a  fading  coal,  which 
some  invisible  influence,  like  an  inconstant 
wind,  awakens  to  transitory  brightness ;  this 
power  rises  from  within,  like  the  colour 
of  a  flower  which  fades  and  changes  as  it 
is  developed,  and  the  conscious  portions  of 
our  natures  are  unprophetic  either  of  its 
approach  or  its  departure."  The  artist  does 

225 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

not  say,  "  Lo,  I  will  paint  a  landscape ;  let 
me  find  my  subject !  "  The  subject  presents 
itself.  There  it  is,  by  chance  almost,  —  a 
sudden  harmony  before  him,  long  low  mea- 
dows stretching  away  to  the  dark  hills,  the 
late  sun  striking  on  the  water,  gold  and  green 
melting  into  a  suffusing  flush  of  purple  light, 
a  harmony  of  color  and  line  and  mass  which 
his  spirit  leaps  out  to  meet  and  with  which 
it  fuses  in  a  larger  unity.  In  the  moment 
of  contact  all  consciousness  of  self  as  a  sep- 
terate  individuality  is  lost.  Out  of  the  union 
/of  the  two  principles,  the  spirit  of  man  and 
I  the  beauty  of  the  object,  is  born  the  idea, 
I  which  is  to  come  to  expression  as  a  work 
of  art. 

But  the  artist  is  a  mind  as  well  as  a  tem- 
perament. Experience  is  a  swing  of  the  pen- 
dulum between  the  momentary  ecstasy  of 
immediate  contact  and  the  subsequent  reac- 
tion upon  the  moment,  which  is  conscious- 
ness of  it.  In  order  to  make  his  vision  act- 
ual, the  artist  rises  out  of  the  domain  of 
feeling  into  that  of  thought.  The  landscape 
has  compelled  him ;  it  is  now  he  who  must 

226 


REPRESENTATION 

compel  the  landscape.  To  the  shaping  of 
his  work  he  must  bring  to  bear  all  his  con- 
scious power  of  selection  and  organization 
and  all  his  knowledge  of  the  capabilities 
and  resources  of  his  means.  Art  springs  out 
of  emotion  ;  painting  is  a  science.  The  art- 
ist's command  of  his  subject  as  the  symbol 
of  his  idea  derives  from  the  stern  and  vigor- 
ous exercise  of  mind.  The  Tightness  of  his 
composition  is  determined  by  a  logic  more 
flexible,  perhaps,  but  no  less  exacting  than 
the  laws  of  geometry.  By  the  flow  of  his 
line  and  the  disposition  of  his  masses,  the 
artist  must  carry  the  eye  of  the  beholder 
along  the  way  he  wants  it  to  travel  until  it 
rests  upon  the  point  where  he  wants  it  to 
rest.  There  must  be  no  leaks  and  no  false 
directions  ;  there  must  be  the  cosmos  within 
the  frame  and  nothing  outside  of  it.  The 
principles  of  perspective  have  been  worked 
out  with  a  precision  that  entitles  them  to 
rank  as  a  science.  Color  has  its  laws,  which, 
again,  science  is  able  to  formulate.  These 
processes  and  formulas  and  laws  are  not  the 
whole  of  art,  but  they  have  their  place. 

227 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  power  to  feel,  the  imaginative  vision, 
and  creative  insight  are  not  to  be  explained. 
But  knowledge  too,  acquired  learning  and 
skill,  plays  its  part,  and  to  recognize  its  func- 
tion and  service  is  to  be  helped  to  a  fuller 
understanding  of  the  achievement  of  the 
artist. 

Gifted  with  a  vibrant,  sensitive  tempera- 
ment, endowed  with  discriminating  and  or- 
ganizing power  of  mind,  equipped  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  science  and  the  mechanics 
of  his  craft,  and  trained  to  skill  in  manual 
execution,  the  artist  responds  to  the  impulse 
of  his  inspiration.  His  subject  is  before  him. 
But  what  is  his  subject  ?  A  scene  in  nature 
furnishes  him  the  objective  base  of  his  pic- 
ture, but  properly  his  work  is  the  expression 
of  what  he  feels.  A  storm  may  convey  to 
different  men  entirely  different  impressions. 
In  its  presence  one  man  may  feel  himself 
overwhelmed  with  terror.  These  wild,  black 
skies  piling  in  upon  him,  the  hilltops  that 
seem  to  race  through  the  clouds,  the  sway- 
ing, snapping  trees,  the  earth  caught  up  in 
the  mad  grasp  of  the  tempest,  may  smite 

228 


REPRESENTATION 

his  soul  with  the  pitilessness  of  nature  and 
her  inexorable  blind  power.  Another  thrills 
with  joy  in  this  cosmic  struggle,  the  joy 
of  conflict  which  he  has  known  in  his  own 
life,  the  meeting  of  equal  forces  in  fair  fight, 
where  the  issue  is  still  doubtful  and  victory 
will  fall  at  last  upon  the  strong,  though  it 
is  not  the  final  triumph  but  the  present  strug- 
gle that  makes  the  joy.  In  rendering  the 
"subject"  upon  his  canvas,  by  the  manipu- 
lation of  composition  and  line  and  mass  and 
color,  he  makes  the  storm  ominous  and  terri- 
ble, or  glorious,  according  as  he  feels.  The 
import  of  his  picture  is  not  the  natural  fact 
of  the  storm  itself,  but  its  significance  for  the 
emotions. 

A  work  of  representative  art  is  the  render- 
ing of  a  unity  of  impression  and  harmony  of 
relations  which  the  artist  has  perceived  and 
to  which  he  has  thrilled  in  the  world  exter- 
nal to  him.  He  presents  not  the  facts  them- 
selves but  their  spirit,  that  something  which 
endows  the  facts  with  their  significance  and 
their  power  to  stir  him.  As  the  meaning  of 
nature  to  the  beholder  is  determined  by  the 

229 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

effect  it  produces  on  his  mind  and  tempera- 
ment, so  the  artist,  in  the  expression  of  this 
meaning,  aims  less  at  a  statement  of  objective 
accuracy  of  exterior  appearance  than  at  pro- 
ducing a  certain  effect,  the  effect  which  is  the 
equivalent  of  the  meaning  of  nature  to  him. 
Thus  the  painter  who  sees  beyond  the  merely 
intellectual  and  sensuous  appeal  of  his  sub- 
ject and  enters  into  its  spirit,  tries  to  render  on 
his  canvas,  not  the  actual  color  of  nature,  but 
the  sensation  of  color  and  its  value  for  the 
emotions.  With  the  material  splendor  of  na- 
ture, —  her  inexhaustible  lavish  wealth  of 
color,  the  glory  of  life  which  throbs  through 
creation,  the  mystery  of  actual  movement, — 
art  cannot  compete.  For  the  hues  and  tones 
of  nature,  infinite  in  number  and  subtlety, 
the  painter  has  only  the  few  notes  within 
the  poor  gamut  of  his  palette.  How  can  he 
quicken  his  dull  paint  with  the  life-beat  of 
palpitating  flesh,  or  the  sculptor  animate  the 
rigid  marble  with  the  vibrations  of  vivid  mo- 
tion? But  where  nature  is  infinite  in  her  range 
she  is  also  scattering  in  her  effects.  By  the 
concentration  of  divergent  forces,  art  gains  in 

230 


REPRESENTATION 

intensity  and  directness  of  impression  what  it 
sacrifices  in  the  scope  of  its  material.  Michel- 
angelo uses  as  his  subject  David,  the  shep- 
herd-boy; but  the  person,  the  mere  name, 
does  not  signify.  What  his  work  embodies  is 
triumphant  youth,  made  visible  and  commu- 
nicable. When  Millet  shows  us  the  peasant, 
it  is  not  what  the  peasant  is  feeling  that  the 
artist  represents,  but  what  Millet  felt  about 
him.  The  same  landscape  will  be  rendered 
differently  by  different  men.  Each  selects  his 
details  according  to  the  interest  of  his  eye  and 
mind  and  feeling,  and  he  brings  them  into  a 
dominant  harmony  which  stands  to  him  for 
the  meaning  of  the  landscape.  None  of  the 
pictures  is  an  accurate  statement  of  the  facts 
as  they  are,  off  there  in  nature ;  all  are  true 
to  the  integrating  inner  vision.  The  super- 
ficial observer  sees  only  the  accidents,  and 
he  does  not  distinguish  relative  importance. 
The  artist,  with  quicker  sensibilities  and  a 
trained  mind,  analyzes,  discovers  the  under- 
lying principle,  and  then  makes  a  synthesis 
which  embodies  only  the  essential ;  he  seizes 
the  distinctive  aspect  of  the  object  and  makes 

231 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

it  salient.  There  may  be,  of  course,  purely 
descriptive  representation,  which  is  a  faith- 
ful record  of  the  facts  of  appearance  as  the 
painter  sees  them,  without  any  feeling  toward 
them ;  here  he  works  as  a  scientist,  not  as  an 
artist.  Merely  imitative  painting  falls  short 
of  artistic  significance,  for  it  embodies  no 
meaning  beyond  the  external  fact.  It  is  the 
expressiveness  of  the  object  that  the  true  art- 
ist cares  to  represent ;  it  is  its  expressiveness, 
its  value  for  the  emotions,  that  constitutes  its 
beauty. 

To  achieve  beauty  the  representative  art- 
ist bases  his  work  upon  the  truth  of  nature. 
It  is  nature  that  supplies  him  with  his  mo- 
tive,—  some  glimpse,  some  fragment,  which 
reveals  within  itself  a  harmony.  It  may  be 
a  form,  as  a  tree,  a  man,  a  mountain  range, 
the  race  of  clouds  across  the  sky ;  it  may 
be  a  color-harmony  or  "  arrangement,"  in 
which  color  rather  than  form  is  the  domi- 
nant interest,  as  with  a  landscape  or  an  in- 
terior ;  it  may  be  the  effects  of  light,  as  the 
sunshine  playing  over  golden  haystacks,  or 
the  glint  of  light  on  metal,  or  the  sheen  of 

232 


REPRESENTATION 

lovely  fabrics.  Out  of  the  complex  of  inter- 
ests and  appeals  which  an  object  offers,  what 
is  the  truth  of  the  object  ?  The  truth  of  na- 
ture resides  not  in  the  accidents  of  surface 
but  in  the  essential  relations,  of  which  the 
surface  is  the  manifestation.  A  birch  tree 
and  an  apple  tree  are  growing  side  by  side. 
Their  roots  strike  down  into  the  same  soil, 
their  branches  are  warmed  by  the  same  sun, 
wet  by  the  same  rains,  and  swept  by  the 
same  winds.  The  birch  tree  is  always  lithe 
and  gracious  and  feminine  ;  the  apple  tree 
is  always  bent  and  sternly  gnarled  like  the 
hand  of  an  old  man.  The  life-force  which 
impels  the  tree  to  growth  is  distinctive  to 
each  kind.  Within  all  natural  objects,  then, 
a  crystal,  a  tree,  a  man,  there  is  a  shaping 
principle  which  determines  their  essential 
form.  But  no  two  individual  apple  trees  are 
precisely  alike ;  from  the  essential  form  of 
the  tree  there  are  divergences  in  the  single 
manifestations.  Though  subject  to  accident 
and  variation,  however,  every  tree  exhibits  a 
characteristic,  inviolate  tendency,  and  remains 
true  to  the  inner  life-principle  of  its  being. 

233 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  "  truth  "  of  the  apple  tree  is  this  distinc- 
tive, essential  form,  by  virtue  of  which  it  is 
an  apple  tree  and  not  some  other  kind,  the 
form  which  underlies  and  allows  for  all  indi- 
vidual variations.  What  the  painter  renders 
on  his  canvas  is  not  the  superficial  accidents 
of  some  single  tree,  but  by  means  of  that,  he 
seeks  to  image  forth  in  color  and  form  the 
tendency  of  all  trees.  The  truth  of  an  ob- 
ject presents  itself  to  the  imagination  as  de- 
sign, for  this  organic,  shaping  principle  of 
things,  expressed  in  colored  myriad  forms 
throughout  the  endless  pageantry  of  nature, 
is  apprehended  by  the  spirit  of  man  as  a  har- 
mony ;  and  in  the  experience  of  the  artist 
truth  identifies  itself  with  beauty. 

The  distinction  between  the  accidental 
surface  of  things  and  the  significance  that 
may  be  drawn  out  of  them  is  exemplified  by 
the  difference  between  accuracy  and  truth  in 
representation.  Accurate  drawing  is  the  faith- 
ful record  of  the  facts  of  appearance  as  offered 
to  the  eye.  Truth  of  drawing  is  the  render- 
ing in  visible  terms  of  the  meaning  and  spirit 
of  the  object,  the  form  which  the  object  takes 

234 


REPRESENTATION 

not  simply  for  the  eye  but  for  the  mind.  A 
pencil  sketch  by  Millet  shows  a  man  carry- 
ing in  each  hand  a  pail  of  water.  The  arms 
are  drawn  inaccurately,  in  that  they  are  made 
too  long.  What  Millet  wanted  to  express, 
however,  was  not  the  physical  shape  of  the 
arms,  but  the  feeling  of  the  burden  under 
which  the  man  was  bending ;  and  by  length- 
ening the  arms  he  has  succeeded  in  convey- 
ing, as  mere  accuracy  could  not  express  it, 
the  sensation  of  weight  and  muscular  strain. 
In  Hals'  picture  of  the  "Jester  "  the  left  hand 
is  sketched  in  with  a  few  swift  strokes  of  the 
brush.  But  so,  it  " keeps  its  place"  in  rela- 
tion to  the  whole ;  and  it  is  more  nearly  right 
than  if  it  had  been  made  the  centre  of  atten- 
tion and  had  been  drawn  with  the  most 
meticulous  precision.  The  hand  is  not  accu- 
rate, but  it  is  true.  Similarly,  size  is  an  affair 
not  of  physical  extent  but  of  proportion.  A 
figure  six  inches  high  may  convey  the  same 
value  as  a  figure  six  feet  high,  if  the  same 
proportions  are  observed.  A  statue  is  the 
presentation,  not  of  the  human  body,  but 
of  the  human  form,  and  more  than  that, 

235 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  what  the  form  expresses.  When  I  am 
talking  with  my  friend  I  am  aware  of  his 
physical  presence  detaching  itself  from  the 
background  of  the  room  in  which  we  are. 
But  I  feel  in  him  something  more.  And 
that  something  more  goes  behind  the  de- 
tails of  his  physical  aspect.  His  eyes  might 
be  blue  instead  of  brown,  his  nose  crooked 
rather  than  straight;  he  might  be  maimed 
and  disfigured  by  some  mishap.  These 
accidents  would  not  change  for  me  what 
is  the  reality.  My  friend  is  not  his  body, 
though  it  is  by  his  body  that  he  exists ;  the 
reality  of  my  friend  is  what  he  essentially  is, 
what  he  is  of  the  spirit.  A  photograph  of  a 
man  registers  certain  facts  of  his  appearance 
at  that  moment.  The  eye  and  the  mind  of 
the  artist  discern  the  truth  which  underlies 
the  surface ;  the  artist  feels  his  sitter  not  as  a 
face  and  a  figure,  a  mere  body,  but  as  a  per- 
sonality; and  the  portrait  expresses  a  man. 

As  grasped  by  our  finite  minds,  there  are 
partial  truths  and  degrees  of  truth.  There 
are,  for  example,  the  facts  of  outer  appear- 
ance, modified  in  our  reception  of  them  by 

236 


REPRESENTATION 

what  we  know  as  distinct  from  what  we  really 
see.  Thus  a  tree  against  the  background  of 
hill  or  sky  seems  to  have  a  greater  projec- 
tion and  relief  than  is  actually  presented  to 
the  eye,  because  we  know  the  tree  is  round. 
Manet's  "  Girl  with  a  Parrot,"  which  appears 
to  the  ordinary  man  to  be  too  flat,  is  more  true 
to  reality  than  any  portrait  that  "seems  to 
come  out  of  its  frame."  Habitually  in  our 
observation  of  objects  about  us,  we  note  only 
so  much  as  serves  our  practical  ends ;  and  this 
is  the  most  superficial,  least  essential  aspect. 
Projection  is  a  partial  truth,  and  to  it  many 
painters  sacrifice  other  and  higher  truths. 
Manet,  recovering  the  "innocence  of  the 
eye"  and  faithful  to  it,  has  penetrated  the 
secrets  and  won  the  truth  of  light.  Botti- 
celli saw  the  world  as  sonorous  undulations 
of  exquisite  line;  and  his  subtly  implicated, 
evanescent  patterns  of  line  movement,  "in- 
correct" as  they  may  be  superficially  in  draw- 
ing, caress  the  eye  as  music  finds  and  satisfies 
the  soul.  When  such  is  his  power  over  us,  it  is 
difficult  to  say  that  Botticelli  had  not  some 
measure  of  the  truth.  The  world  of  the  Ve- 

237 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

netians  sang  full-sounding  harmonies  of  glo- 
rious color.  Velasquez  saw  everything  laved 
around  with  a  flood  of  silver  quiet  atmo- 
sphere. All  in  their  own  way  have  found 
and  shown  to  us  a  truth. 

To  render  what  he  has  seen  and  felt  in 
the  essence  and  meaning  of  it,  the  artist  seeks 
to  disengage  the  shaping  principle  of  the 
particular  aspect  of  truth,  which  has  im- 
pressed him,  from  all  accidents  in  its  mani- 
festation. To  make  this  dominant  charac- 
ter salient  beyond  irrevelant  circumstance, 
art  works  by  selection.  Art  is  necessarily  a 
compromise.  It  isolates  some  elements  and 
sacrifices  others  ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  true 
on  that  account.  The  mere  material  of  the 
object  is  more  or  less  fixed,  but  the  relations 
which  the  object  embodies  are  capable  of 
many  combinations  and  adjustments,  accord- 
ing to  the  mind  and  temperament  of  the  in- 
dividual artist  who  is  moved  by  it.  All  art 
is  in  a  certain  sense  abstraction ;  all  art  in  a 
measure  idealizes.  It  is  abstraction  in  the 
sense  that  it  presents  the  intrinsic  and  distinc- 
tive qualities  of  things,  purged  of  accident. 

238 


REPRESENTATION 

Art  does  not  compete  with  nature ;  it  is  a 
statement  of  the  spirit  and  intention  of  na- 
ture in  the  artist's  own  terms.  The  test  of 
the  work  is  not  apparent  and  superficial  like- 
ness, but  truth.  Art  idealizes  in  the  measure 
that  it  disengages  the  truth.  In  this  aspect 
of  it  the  work  is  ideal  as  distinct  from  merely 
actual.  There  is  a  practice  in  art  which 
draws  its  standard  of  beauty,  its  ideal,  not 
from  nature  but  from  other  art,  and  which 
seeks  to  "  improve  nature  "  by  the  combi- 
nation of  arbitrarily  chosen  elements  and  by 
the  modification  of  natural  truth  to  fit  a  pre- 
conceived formula.  The  Eclectics  of  Bo- 
logna, in  the  seventeenth  century,  sought  to 
combine  Raphael's  perfection  of  drawing 
and  composition,  Michelangelo's  sublimity 
and  his  mastery  of  the  figure,  and  Correggio's 
sweet  sentiment  and  his  supremacy  in  the 
rendering  of  light  and  shade,  fondly  suppos- 
ing thus  that  the  sum  of  excellent  parts  is 
equivalent  to  an  excellence  of  the  whole. 
This  is  false  idealism.  The  Greeks  carried 
their  research  for  certain  truths  of  the  hu- 
man form  to  the  point  of  perfection  and  com- 

239 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

plete  realization.  The  truth  of  the  Greeks 
was  mistaken  by  the  pseudo-classicists  and 
misapplied.  Thus  Delacroix  exclaimed  iron- 
ically, "  In  order  to  present  an  ideal  head 
of  a  negro,  our  teachers  make  him  resemble 
as  far  as  possible  the  profile  of  Antinous, 
and  then  say,  '  We  have  done  our  utmost ; 
if,  nevertheless,  we  fail  to  make  the  negro 
beautiful,  then  we  ought  not  to  introduce 
into  our  pictures  such  a  freak  of  nature,  the 
squat  nose  and  thick  lips,  which  are  so 
unendurable  to  the  eyes/  '  True  idealism 
treats  everything  after  its  own  kind,  making 
it  more  intensely  itself  than  it  is  in  the  play 
of  nature;  the  athlete  is  more  heroically  an 
athlete,  the  negro  more  vividly  a  negro.  True 
idealism  seeks  to  express  the  tendency  by  vir- 
tue of  which  an  object  is  what  it  is.  The 
abstraction  which  art  effects  is  not  an  unreal- 
ity but  a  higher  reality.  It  is  not  the  mere 
type,  that  art  presents,  for  the  type  as  such 
does  not  exist  in  nature.  The  individual  is 
not  lost  but  affirmed  by  this  reference  to  the 
inner  principle  of  its  being.  A  good  por- 
trait has  in  it  an  element  of  caricature  ;  the 

240 


REPRESENTATION 

difference  between  portraiture  and  carica- 
ture is  the  difference  between  emphasis  and 
exaggeration.  Art  is  not  the  falsification  of 
nature,  but  the  fuller  realization  of  it.  It  is 
the  interpretation  of  nature's  truth,  the  trans- 
lation of  it,  divined  by  the  artist,  into  simpler 
terms  to  be  read  and  understood  by  those  of 
less  original  insight.  The  deeper  the  pene- 
tration into  the  life-force  and  shaping  prin- 
ciple of  nature,  the  greater  is  the  measure  of 
truth. 

In  representative  art  the  truth  of  nature 
is  the  work's  objective  base.  What  the  art- 
ist finally  expresses  is  the  relation  of  the  ob- 
ject to  his  own  experience.  A  work  of  art 
is  the  statement  of  the  artist's  insight  into 
nature,  moulded  and  suffused  by  the  emotion 
attending  his  perception.  Of  the  object,  he 
uses  that  aspect  and  that  degree  of  truth 
which  serve  him  for  the  expression  of  his 
feeling  toward  it.  What  is  called  "  realism  " 
is  one  order  of  truth,  one  way  of  seeing. 
"  Impressionism  "  is  another  order  of  truth. 
"  Idealism  "  is  still  another.  But  all  three 
elements  blend  in  varying  proportion  in  any 

241 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

work.  Even  the  realist,  who  "  paints  what 
he  sees,"  has  his  ideal,  which  is  the  effect 
he  sets  himself  to  produce  by  his  picture, 
and  he  paints  according  to  his  impression. 
He  renders  not  the  object  itself  but  his  men- 
tal image  of  it ;  and  that  image  is  the  result 
of  his  way  of  seeing  and  feeling,  his  habit 
of  mind,  his  interest,  and  his  store  of  memo- 
ries. The  idealist  must  base  his  work  upon 
some  kind  of  reality,  or  it  is  a  monstrosity ; 
he  is  obliged  to  refer  to  the  external  world 
for  his  symbols.  The  impressionist,  who  con- 
cerns himself  with  the  play  of  light  over 
surfaces  in  nature,  is  seeking  for  truth,  and 
he  cares  to  paint  at  all  because  that  play  of 
light,  seemingly  so  momentary  and  so  merely 
sensuous,  has  a  value  for  his  spirit  of  which  he 
may  or  may  not  be  wholly  conscious ;  and  these 
shifting  effects  are  the  realization  of  his  ideal. 
Unwitting  at  the  moment  of  contact  itself 
of  the  significance  that  afterwards  is  to  flow 
articulately  from  his  work,  the  artist,  in  the 
presence  of  his  object,  knows  only  that  he  is 
impelled  to  render  it.  As  faithfully  as  pos- 
sible he  tries  to  record  what  he  sees,  conscious 

242 


REPRESENTATION 

simply  that  what  he  sees  gives  him  delight. 
His  vision  wakens  his  feeling,  and  then  by 
reaction  his  feeling  determines  his  vision, 
controlling  and  directing  his  selection  of  the 
details  of  aspect.  When  Velasquez,  engaged 
on  a  portrait  of  the  king,  saw  the  maids  of 
honor  graciously  attending  on  the  little  prin- 
cess, he  did  not  set  about  producing  a  pic- 
ture, as  an  end  in  itself.  In  the  relation  of 
these  figures  to  one  another  and  to  the  back- 
ground of  the  deep  and  high-vaulted  cham- 
ber in  which  they  were  standing,  each  ob- 
ject and  plane  of  distance  receiving  its  just 
amount  of  light  and  fusing  in  the  unity  of 
total  impression,  were  revealed  to  him  the 
wonder  and  the  mystery  of  nature's  magic 
of  light.  This  is  what  he  tried  to  render. 
His  revelation  of  natural  truth,  wrung  from 
nature's  inmost  latencies  and  shown  to  us 
triumphantly,  becomes  a  thing  of  beauty. 

So  the  differences  among  the  various 
"  schools  "  in  art  are  after  all  largely  differ- 
ences of  emphasis.  The  choice  of  subject  or 
motive,  the  angle  from  which  it  is  viewed, 
and  the  method  of  handling,  all  are  deter- 

243 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

mined  by  the  artist's  kind  of  interest ;  and 
that  interest  results  from  what  the  man  is  es- 
sentially by  inheritance  and  individual  char- 
acter, and  what  he  is  moulded  into  by  environ- 
ment, training,  and  experience.  It  may  happen 
that  the  external  object  imposes  itself  in  its 
integrity  upon  the  artist's  mind  and  tem- 
perament, and  he  tries  to  express  it,  colored 
inevitably  by  his  feeling  toward  it,  in  all  faith- 
fulness to  the  fact  as  he  sees  it.  Millet  said, 
"  I  should  never  paint  anything  that  was  not 
the  result  of  an  impression  received  from 
the  aspect  of  nature,  whether  in  landscape 
or  figures."  Millet  painted  what  he  saw, 
but  he  painted  it  as  only  he  saw  it.  Or  again 
it  happens  that  an  artist  imposes  his  feeling 
upon  nature.  Thus  Burne-Jones  said,  "  I 
mean  by  a  picture  a  beautiful  romantic  dream 
of  something  that  never  was,  never  will  be — 
in  a  light  better  than  any  that  ever  shone — in 
a  land  no  one  can  define  or  remember,  only 
desire."  Whether  true  to  nature  or  true  to 
the  creative  inner  vision,  the  work  of  both 
men  embodies  truth.  Sometimes  an  artist 
effaces  entirely  his  own  individuality,  as  in 

244 


REPRESENTATION 

Greek  sculpture  and  Gothic  architecture, 
and  the  mere  name  of  the  creator  does  not 
signify.  George  Frederick  Watts  is  reported 
to  have  said,  "  If  I  were  asked  to  choose 
whether  I  would  like  to  do  something  good, 
as  the  world  judges  popular  art,  and  receive 
personally  great  credit  for  it,  or,  as  an  alter- 
native, to  produce  something  which  should 
rank  with  the  very  best,  taking  a  place  with 
the  art  of  Pheidias  or  Titian,  with  the  high- 
est poetry  and  the  most  elevating  music,  and 
remain  unknown  as  the  perpetrator  of  the 
work,  I  should  choose  the  latter."  Sidney 
Lanier  wrote,  "It  is  of  little  consequence 
whether  /fail ;  the  /  in  the  matter  is  small 
business.  .  .  .  Let  my  name  perish, — the 
poetry  is  good  poetry  and  the  music  is  good 
music,  and  beauty  dieth  not,  and  the  heart 
that  needs  it  will  find  it."  Or  on  the  contrary, 
a  work  may  bear  dominantly,  even  aggres- 
sively, the  impress  of  the  distinctive  individ- 
uality of  its  creator,  as  with  Carlyle's  prose 
and  Browning's  poetry.  Whistler  seems  at 
times  to  delight  less  in  the  beauty  of  his  sub- 
ject than  in  the  exercise  of  his  own  power 

245 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

of  refinement.  Where  another  man's  art  is 
personal,  as  with  Velasquez  or  Frans  Hals, 
Whistler's  art  becomes  egotistical.  He  does 
not  say,  "  Lo,  how  mysterious  is  this  dusk 
river-side,  how  tenderly  serene  this  mother, 
how  wistful  and  mighty  is  this  prophet-seer ! ' ' 
He  exclaims  rather,  "Note  how  subtly  I, 
Whistler,  have  seen.  Rejoice  with  me  in  my 
powers  of  vision  and  of  execution."  There 
is  no  single  method  of  seeing,  no  one  formula 
of  expression  and  handling.  The  truth  both 
of  nature  and  of  art  is  great  and  infinitely 
various.  For  art,  like  nature,  is  organic,  al- 
lowing for  endless  modifications,  while  re- 
maining true  to  the  inner  principle  of  its 
being. 

The  judgment  of  truth  is  a  delicate  busi- 
ness. To  test  the  truth  of  a  work  of  art  by 
reference  to  the  truth  of  nature  is  to  presup- 
pose that  our  power  of  perception  is  equal  to 
the  artist's  power,  and  that  our  knowledge  of 
the  object  represented  is  equal  to  his  know- 
ledge of  it.  The  ordinary  man's  habitual 
contact  with  the  world  is  practical,  and  his 
knowledge  of  natural  fact,  based  upon  the 

246 


REPRESENTATION 

most  superficial  aspect  of  it  and  used  for  prac- 
tical purposes,  tends  to  falsify  his  vision.  The; 
artist's  contact  with  the  world,  in  his  capa- 
city as  artist,  is  one  of  feeling ;  he  values  life, 
not  for  its  material  rewards  and  satisfactions, 
but  for  what  it  brings  to  him  of  emotional 
experience.  The  ordinary  man  uses  nature 
for  his  own  workaday  ends.  The  artist  loves 
nature,  and  through  his  love  he  understands 
her.  His  knowledge  of  natural  fact,  instead 
of  falsifying  his  vision,  reinforces  it.  He 
studies  the  workings  of  nature's  laws  as  man- 
ifested in  concrete  phenomena  around  him, 
—  the  movement  of  storms,  the  growth  of 
trees,  the  effects  of  light,  —  penetrating  their 
inmost  secrets,  that  he  may  make  them  more 
efficient  instruments  of  expression.  He  uses 
his  understanding  of  anatomy,  of  earth-struc- 
ture, of  the  laws  of  color,  as  the  means  to  a 
fuller  and  juster  interpretation.  As  he  re- 
ceives the  truth  of  nature  with  reverence  and 
joy,  so  he  transmutes  truth  into  beauty. 

An  artist's  interest  in  the  truth  of  nature 
is  not  the  scientist's  interest,  an  intellectual 
concern  with  knowledge  for  the  sake  of 

247 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

knowledge.  The  artist  receives  nature's  rev- 
elation of  herself  with  emotion.  The  deeper 
he  penetrates  into  her  hidden  ways,  the 
greater  becomes  her  power  to  stir  him.  The 
artist  values  his  "subject,"  therefore,  as  the 
stimulus  of  emotion  and  as  the  symbol  by 
means  of  which  he  expresses  his  emotion  and 
communicates  it.  The  value  of  the  subject 
to  the  appreciator,  however,  is  not  immedi- 
ately clear.  It  is  not  easy  for  us  to  receive  the 
subject  purely  as  the  artist  shows  it  to  us  and 
independently  of  our  own  knowledge  of  it. 
About  it  already  gather  innumerable  associa- 
tions, physical,  practical,  intellectual,  senti- 
mental, and  emotional,  all  of  them  or  any 
of  them,  which  result  from  our  previous  con- 
tact with  it  in  actual  life.  Here  is  a  portrait 
of  Carlyle.  I  cannot  help  regarding  the  pic- 
ture first  of  all  from  the  point  of  view  of  its 
likeness  to  the  original.  This  is  a  person  with 
whom  I  am  acquainted,  an  individual,  by 
name  Carlyle.  And  my  reaction  on  the  pic- 
ture is  determined,  not  by  what  the  artist  has 
to  say  about  a  great  personality  interpreted 
through  the  medium  of  color  and  form,  but 

248 


REPRESENTATION 

by  what  I  already  know  about  Carlyle.  Or 
here  a  painting  shows  me  a  landscape  with 
which  I  am  familiar.  Then  instead  of  trying 
to  discover  in  the  picture  what  the  artist  has 
seen  in  the  landscape  and  felt  in  its  presence, 
letting  it  speak  to  me  in  its  own  language,  I 
allow  my  thoughts  to  wander  from  the  can- 
vas, and  I  enjoy  the  landscape  in  terms  of  my 
own  knowledge  and  remembrance  of  it.  The 
artist's  work  becomes  simply  a  point  of  de- 
parture, whereas  it  should  be  not  only  the 
beginning  but  also  the  end  and  fulfillment 
of  the  complete  experience.  What  is,  then, 
we  may  ask,  the  relation  of  the  fact  of  the 
subject  to  the  beauty  and  final  message  of 
the  work? 

The  pleasure  which  attends  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  subject  is  a  legitimate  element  in 
our  enjoyment  of  art.  But  the  work  should 
yield  a  delight  beyond  our  original  delight 
in  the  subject  as  it  exists  in  nature.  The  sig- 
nificance of  a  work  of  representative  art  de- 
pends not  upon  the  subject  in  and  of  itself,  but 
upon  what  the  artist  has  to  sayabout  it.  A  rose 
may  be  made  to  reveal  the  cosmos ;  a  moun- 

249 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

tain  range  or  cloud-swept  spaces  of  the  upper 
air  may  be  niggled  into  meanness.  The  ugly 
in  practical  life  may  be  transfigured  by  the 
artist's  touch  into  supreme  beauty.  "Ilfaut 
pouvoir  faire  servir  le  trivial  a  r expression  du 
sublime,  cest  la  la  vrate force"  said  one  who 
was  able  to  invest  a  humble  figure  with  august 
dignity.  Millet's  peasants  reveal  more  of 
godlike  majesty  than  all  the  array  of  per- 
sonages in  the  pantheon  of  post-Raphaelite 
Italy  and  the  classic  school  of  France.  Upon 
his  subject  the  artist  bases  that  harmony  of 
relations  which  constitutes  the  beauty  and 
significance  of  his  work.  Brought  thus  into 
a  harmony,  the  object  represented  is  made 
more  vivid,  more  intensely  itself,  than  it  is 
in  nature,  with  the  result  that  we  receive 
from  the  representation  a  heightened  sense 
of  reality  and  of  extended  personality.  The 
importance  of  the  subject,  therefore,  is  mea- 
sured by  the  opportunity  it  affords  the  artist, 
and  with  him  his  appreciators,  to  share  in  the 
beauty  of  nature  and  life.  A  picture  should 
not  "standout"  from  its  frame,  but  should 
go  back  into  it,  reaching  even  into  infinity. 

250 


REPRESENTATION 

Our  own  associations  attaching  to  the  subject 
lose  themselves  as  they  blend  with  the  artist's 
revelation  of  the  fuller  beauty  of  his  object; 
and  finally  all  becomes  merged  in  the  emo- 
tional experience. 

Eliminating  the  transient  and  accidental, 
a  work  of  art  presents  the  essential  and  eter- 
nal. Art  appeals  not  to  the  intellect  and  the 
reason,  but  to  the  imagination  and  the  emo- 
tions. The  single  work,  therefore,  is  concrete 
and  immediate.  But  universal  in  its  scope,  it 
transcends  the  particularities  of  limited  place 
and  individual  name.  We  must  distinguish 
between  the  abstractly  typical  and  the  uni- 
versal. The  representative  artist  does  not  con- 
ceive an  abstraction  and  then  seek  to  find  a 
symbol  for  it.  That  is  the  method  of  allegory, 
where  spring,  for  example,  is  figured  as  a 
young  woman  scattering  flowers.  Allegory 
is  decorative  rather  than  representative  in 
intention.  The  artist  receives  his  inspiration 
and  stimulus  from  some  actual  concrete  bit 
of  nature,  a  woodland  wrapt  in  tender  mists 
of  green,  a  meadow  gold  and  softly  white 
with  blossoms,  a  shimmering  gauze  of  sun- 

251 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

touched  air,  moist  and  vibrating,  enfolding 
it.  That  is  what  he  paints.  But  he  paints  it 
so  that  it  is  spring,  and  instinct  with  the 
spirit  of  all  springs.  Michelangelo  does  not 
intellectually  conceive  youth  and  then  carve 
a  statue.  Some  boy  has  revealed  to  him  the 
beauty  of  his  young  strength,  and  the  sculptor 
moves  to  immediate  expression.  He  calls  his 
statue  David,  but  the  white  form  radiates  the 
rhythm  and  glory  of  all  youth.  And  as  we 
realize  youth  in  ourselves,  more  poignantly, 
more  abundantly,  the  mere  name  of  the  boy 
does  not  matter.  The  fact  that  the  portrait 
shows  us  Carlyle  is  an  incident.  Carlyle  is 
the  "subject"  of  the  picture,  but  its  meaning 
is  the  twilight  of  a  mighty,  indomitable  mind, 
made  visible  and  communicable.  His  work 
is  done ;  the  hour  of  quiet  is  given,  and  he 
finds  rest.  Into  this  moment,  eternal  in  its 
significance,  into  this  mood,  universal  in  its 
appeal,  we  enter,  to  realize  it  in  ourselves. 
The  subject  of  picture  or  statue  is  but  the 
means ;  the  end  is  life.  Objective  fact  is  trans- 
muted into  living  truth.  Art  is  the  manifes- 
tation of  a  higher  reality  than  we  alone  have 

252 


REPRESENTATION 

been  able  to  know.  It  begins  with  the  par- 
ticular and  then  transcends  it,  admitting  us 
to  share  in  the  beauty  of  the  world,  the  cos- 
mic harmony  of  universal  experience. 


THE    PERSONAL    ESTIMATE 

ART  starts  from  life  and  in  the  end  comes 
back  to  it.  Art  is  born  out  of  the  stir- 
ring of  the  artist's  spirit  in  response  to  his  need 
of  expression,  and  it  reaches  its  fulfillment  in 
the  spirit  of  the  appreciator  as  it  answers  his 
need  of  wider  and  deeper  experience.  Mid- 
way on  its  course  from  spirit  to  spirit  it  trav- 
erses devious  paths.  The  emotion  out  of 
which  art  springs  and  of  which  it  is  the  ex- 
pression is  controlled  and  directed  by  the 
shaping  force  of  mind,  and  it  embodies  itself 
in  material  form.  This  material  form,  by 
virtue  of  its  qualities,  has  the  power  to  de- 
light our  senses;  the  skill  which  went  into 
the  fashioning  of  it,  so  far  as  we  can  recognize 
the  processes  of  execution,  gives  us  pleasure; 
the  harmony  which  the  work  of  art  must 
manifest  satisfies  the  mind  and  makes  it  pos- 
sible for  us  to  link  the  emotion  with  our  own 
experience. 

254 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

These  paths  which  a  work  of  art  traverses 
in  its  course  from  its  origin  to  its  fulfillment 
I  have  tried  to  follow  in  their  ramifications, 
and  I  have  tried  to  trace  them  to  their  issue  in 
appreciation.  Some  lovers  of  art  may  linger 
on  the  way  and  rest  content  with  the  distance 
they  have  come,  without  pressing  forward  to 
the  end.  A  work  of  art  is  complex  in  its 
appeal ;  and  it  is  possible  to  stop  with  one  or 
another  of  its  elements.  Thus  we  may  re- 
ceive the  work  intellectually,  recognizing  its 
subject,  and  turning  the  artist's  emotion  into 
our  thought  and  translating  it  from  his  me- 
dium of  color  and  form  or  sound  into  our 
own  medium  of  words.  Here  is  a  portrait  of 
Carlyle;  and  Carlyle  we  know  as  an  author 
and  as  a  man.  This  landscape  is  from  the 
Palisades,  where  we  have  roamed  in  leisure 
hours.  Before  us  is  a  statue  of  Zeus,  whom 
our  classical  reading  has  made  a  reality  to  us. 
This  symphony  gathers  about  a  day  in  the 
country,  suggesting  an  incident  in  our  own 
experience  of  which  we  have  pleasant  re- 
membrances. Intellectually,  also,  we  enjoy 
the  evidence  of  the  artist's  skill  which  the 

255 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

work  exhibits.  Or  we  may  pass  beyond  the 
simple  exercise  of  the  intellect,  and  with  a 
refinement  of  perception  we  may  take  a  sen- 
suous delight  in  the  qualities  of  the  material 
in  which  the  work  is  embodied.  This  por- 
trait is  a  subtle  harmony  of  color  and  ex- 
quisite adjustment  of  line  and  mass.  The  lu- 
minous night  which  enwraps  the  Palisades  is 
a  solemn  mighty  chord.  The  white  rhythm 
of  this  statue  caresses  the  eye  that  follows  it. 
This  symphony  is  an  intricate  and  wonderful 
wave-pattern  upon  a  sea  of  billowing  sound 
in  which  the  listener  immerses  himself  vo- 
luptuously. The  essential  significance  of  a 
work  of  art  is  not  to  be  received  apart  from 
its  form,  but  the  form  is  more  than  merely 
sensuous  in  its  appeal.  Finally,  therefore,  the 
color  and  the  composition  of  the  portrait  are 
but  the  point  of  meeting  where  we  touch  in 
energizing  contact  a  powerful  personality. 
Our  spirit  goes  out  into  the  night  of  these 
Palisades  and  dilates  into  immensity.  This 
statue  is  Olympian  majesty  made  visible,  and 
in  its  presence  we  feel  that  we  too  are  august. 
The  symphony  is  a  resolution  of  the  struggle 

256 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

of  our  own  tangled  lives,  a  purification,  and 
the  experience  of  joy. 

Art  is  the  expression  of  experience, 
whether  the  experience  enacts  itself  within 
the  spirit  of  the  artist  or  derives  from  his 
contact  with  the  external  world.  So  by  the 
same  token,  art  is  finally  to  be  received  as  ex- 
perience. The  ultimate  meaning  of  a  work 
of  art  to  the  appreciator  is  what  it  wakens 
in  him  of  emotion.  It  is  the  artist's  busi- 
ness, by  the  manipulation  of  his  materials 
and  his  elements,  by  the  choice  of  motive 
and  the  rendering,  by  the  note  and  pitch  of 
his  color,  the  ordering  of  his  line,  the  dis- 
position of  his  masses,  to  compel  the  direc- 
tion of  the  emotion  ;  he  must  not  allow  the 
solemnity  and  awe  with  which  his  night  in- 
vests the  Palisades  to  be  mistaken  by  the  be- 
holder for  terror  or  for  mere  obscurity.  But 
the  quality  and  the  intensity  of  the  emotion 
depend  upon  the  temper  of  the  apprecia- 
tor's  sensibilities  and  the  depth  and  range 
of  his  experience  of  life.  Art  is  not  fixed 
and  invariable  in  its  effect.  "  Vanity  Fair  " 
is  a  great  novel.  One  man  may  read  it  for 

257 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

the  sake  of  the  story,  and  in  his  amusement 
and  interest  in  following  the  succession  of 
incident,  he  may  for  a  while  forget  himself. 
A  possible  use  to  put  one's  reading  to ;  yet 
for  that  man  the  book  is  not  art.  Another 
may  be  entertained  by  the  spectacle  of  the 
persons  as  they  exhibit  themselves  in  Thack- 
eray's pages,  much  as  he  might  stop  a  mo- 
ment on  the  curbstone  and  watch  a  group 
of  children  at  play  in  the  street.  Here  he 
is  a  looker-on,  holding  himself  aloof;  and 
for  him,  again,  the  book  is  not  art.  Still  a 
third  may  find  in  "  Vanity  Fair  "  a  record 
of  the  customs  and  manners  of  English  peo- 
ple at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  and  he  adds  this  much  to  his  stock  of 
information.  Still  for  him  the  book  is  not 
art.  Not  one  of  the  three  has  touched  in 
vital  contact  the  essential  meaning  of  "Van- 
ity Fair."  But  the  man  who  sees  in  the  in- 
cidents of  the  book  a  situation  possible  in 
his  own  life,  who  identifies  himself  with  the 
personages  and  acts  out  with  them  their  ad- 
ventures, who  feels  that  he  actually  knows 
Rawdon  Crawley  and  Becky  Sharp,  Jo  Sed- 

258 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

ley,  Dobbin,  and  Amelia,  and  understands 
their  character  and  personality  better  here 
than  in  the  actual  world  about  him  by  force 
of  Thackeray's  greater  insight  and  power 
of  portraiture,  who  sees  in  English  man- 
ners here  represented  the  interpretation  of 
his  own  surroundings,  so  that  as  a  result  of  it 
all,  his  own  experience  becomes  richer  for 
his  having  lived  out  the  life  of  the  ficti- 
tious persons,  his  own  acquaintances  have  re- 
vealed themselves  more  fully,  his  own  life 
becomes  more  intelligible, — for  him  at  last 
the  book  is  a  work  of  art.  So  any  work 
may  be  a  mirror  which  simply  reflects  the 
world  as  we  know  it  ;  it  may  be  a  point  of 
departure,  from  which  tangentially  we  con- 
struct an  experience  of  our  own  :  it  is  truly 
art  only  in  the  degree  that  it  is  revelation. 
A  work  of  art,  therefore,  is  to  be  received 
by  the  individual  appreciator  as  an  added 
emotional  experience.  It  appeals  to  him  at 
all  because  in  some  way  it  relates  itself  to 
his  own  life ;  and  its  value  to  him  is  deter- 
mined by  the  measure  in  which  it  carries 
him  out  into  wider  ranges  of  feeling.  There 

259 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

are  works  whose  absolute  greatness  he  recog- 
nizes but  yet  which  do  not  happen  at  the 
moment  to  find  him.  Constable  comes  to 
him  as  immensely  satisfying;  Turner,  though 
an  object  of  great  intellectual  interest,  leaves 
him  cold.  He  knows  Velasquez  to  be  su- 
preme among  painters,  but  he  turns  away 
to  stand  before  Frans  Hals,  whose  quick, 
sure  strokes  call  such  very  human  beings 
into  actuality  and  rouse  his  spirit  to  the  full- 
est response.  Why  is  it  that  of  two  works 
of  equal  depth  of  insight  into  life,  of  equal 
scope  of  feeling,  of  the  same  excellence  of 
technical  accomplishment,  one  has  an  ap- 
peal and  a  message  for  him  and  not  the 
other  ?  What  is  the  bridge  of  transition  be- 
tween the  work  and  the  spirit  of  the  appre- 
ciator  by  which  the  subtle  connection  is 
established  ? 

It  comes  back  to  a  matter  of  harmony.  Ex- 
perience presents  itself  to  us  in  fragments ;  and 
in  so  far  as  the  parts  are  scattering  and  unre- 
lated, it  is  not  easy  for  us  to  guess  the  purpose  of 
our  being  here.  But  so  soon  as  details,  which 
by  virtue  of  some  selecting  principle  are  re- 

260 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

lated  to  one  another,  gather  themselves  into 
a  whole,  chaos  is  resolved  into  order,  and  this 
whole  becomes  significant,  intelligible,  and 
beautiful.  Instinctively  we  are  seeking,  each 
in  his  own  way,  to  bring  the  fragments  of 
experience  into  order ;  and  that  order  stands 
to  each  of  us  for  what  we  are,  for  our  indi- 
vidual personality,  the  self.  We  define  thus 
our  selecting  principle,  by  which  we  receive 
some  incidents  of  experience  as  related  to  our 
development  and  we  reject  others  as  not  re- 
lated to  it.  Thus  the  individual  life  achieves 
its  integrity,  its  unity  and  significance.  This, 
too,  is  the  process  of  art.  A  landscape  in  na- 
ture is  capable  of  a  various  interpretation. 
By  bringing  its  details  into  order  and  unity, 
the  artist  creates  its  beauty.  His  perception 
of  the  harmony  which  his  imagination  com- 
pels out  of  the  landscape  is  attended  with 
emotion,  and  the  emotion  flows  outward  to 
expression  in  a  form  which  is  itself  harmo- 
nious. This  form  is  a  work  of  art.  Art,  there- 
fore, is  the  harmonizing  of  experience.  Ap- 
preciation is  an  act  of  fusion  and  identification. 
In  spirit  we  become  the  thing  presented  by  the 

261 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

work  of  art  and  we  merge  with  it  in  a  larger 
unity.  The  individual  harmony  which  a 
work  of  art  manifests  becomes  significant  to 
us  as  we  can  make  it  an  harmonious  part  of 
our  own  experience  and  as  it  carries  us  in  the 
direction  of  our  development. 

But  how  to  determine,  each  man  for  him- 
self, what  is  the  direction  of  our  development  ? 
A  life  becomes  significant  to  itself  so  soon  as 
it  is  conscious  of  its  purpose,  and  it  becomes 
harmonious  as  it  makes  all  the  details  of  ex- 
perience subserve  that  purpose.  The  purpose 
of  the  individual  life,  so  far  as  we  can  guess 
it,  seems  to  be  that  the  life  shall  be  as  com- 
plete as  possible,  that  it  shall  fulfill  itself  and 
provide  through  its  offspring  for  its  continu- 
ance. It  is  true  that  no  life  is  isolated ;  as 
every  atom  throughout  the  universe  is  bound 
to  every  other  atom  by  subtlest  filaments  of 
influence,  so  each  human  life  stands  related 
to  all  other  lives.  But  the  man  best  pays  his 
debt  of  service  to  others  who  makes  the  most 
of  that  which  is  given  him  to  work  with ;  and 
that  is  his  own  personality.  We  must  begin 
at  the  centre  and  work  outwards.  My  con- 

262 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

cern  is  with  my  own  justice.  If  I  worry  be- 
cause my  friend  or  another  is  not  just,  I  not 
only  do  not  make  him  more  just,  but  I  also 
fail  of  the  highest  justice  I  can  achieve,  which 
is  my  own.  We  must  be  true  to  ourselves. 
We  help  one  another  not  by  precept  but  by 
being;  and  what  we  are  communicates  itself. 
As  physical  life  propagates  and  thus  con- 
tinues itself,  so  personality  is  transmitted  in 
unconscious  innumerable  ways.  The  step  and 
carriage  of  the  body,  the  glance  of  the  eye, 
the  work  of  our  hands,  our  silences  no  less 
than  our  speech,  all  express  what  we  are.  As 
everything  follows  upon  what  we  are,  so  our 
responsibility  is  to  be,  to  be  ourselves  com- 
pletely, perfectly. 

A  tender  shoot  pushes  its  way  out  of  the 
soil  into  light  and  air,  and  with  the  years  it 
grows  into  a  tree.  The  tree  bears  fruit,  which 
contains  the  seed  of  new  manifestations  of 
itself.  The  fruit  falls  to  the  ground  and  rots, 
providing  thus  the  aliment  for  the  seed  out  of 
which  other  trees  are  to  spring.  From  seed 
to  seed  the  life  of  the  tree  is  a  cycle,  without 
beginning  and  without  end.  At  no  one  point 

263 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

in  the  cycle  can  we  say,  Here  is  the  purpose 
of  the  tree.  Incidentally  the  tree  may  min- 
ister to  the  needs  and  comfort  and  pleasure 
of  man.  The  tree  delights  him  to  look  upon 
it;  its  branches  shade  him  from  the  noonday 
sun;  its  trunk  and  limbs  can  be  hewn  down 
and  turned  to  heat  and  shelter;  its  fruit  is 
good  to  eat.  The  primary  purpose  of  the 
fruit,  however,  is  not  to  furnish  food  to  man, 
but  to  provide  the  envelope  for  the  trans- 
mission of  its  seed  and  the  continuance  of 
its  own  life.  Seen  in  its  cosmic  bearing  and 
scope,  the  purpose  of  the  tree  is  to  be  a  tree, 
as  fit,  as  strong,  as  beautiful,  as  complete,  as 
tree-like,  as  it  can  be.  The  leaf  precedes  the 
flower  and  may  be  thought  on  that  account 
to  be  inferior  to  it  in  the  scale  of  develop- 
ment. If  a  leaf  pines  and  withers  in  regret 
that  it  is  not  a  flower,  it  not  only  does  not 
become  a  flower,  but  it  fails  of  being  a  good 
leaf.  Everything  in  its  place  and  after  its  own 
kind.  In  so  far  as  it  is  perfectly  itself,  a  leaf, 
a  blossom,  a  tree,  a  man,  does  it  contribute 
to  the  well-being  of  others.  Man  has  subdued 
all  things  under  his  feet  and  turned  them  to 

264 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

his  own  uses.  By  force  of  mind  he  is  the 
strongest  creature,  but  it  is  not  to  be  inferred 
that  he  is  therefore  the  aim  and  end  of  all  cre- 
ation. Like  everything  else,  he  has  his  place ; 
like  everything  else  he  has  the  right  to  live 
his  own  life,  triumphing  over  the  weaker  and 
in  his  turn  going  down  before  a  mightier 
when  the  mightier  shall  come;  like  every- 
thing else  he  is  but  a  part  in  the  universal 
whole.  Only  a  part ;  but  as  we  recognize  our 
relation  to  other  parts  and  through  them  our 
connection  with  the  whole,  our  sense  of  the 
value  of  the  individual  life  becomes  infinitely 
extended.  We  must  get  into  the  rhythm, 
keeping  step  with  the  beat  of  the  universal 
life  and  finding  there  our  place,  our  destiny, 
the  meaning  of  our  being  here,  and  joy.  The 
goods  which  men  set  before  themselves  as  an 
end  are  but  by-products  after  all.  If  we  pur- 
sue happiness  we  overtake  it  not.  If  we  do 
what  our  hands  find  to  do,  devotedly  and  with 
our  might,  then,  some  day,  if  we  happen  to 
stop  and  make  question  of  it,  we  discover  that 
happiness  is  already  there,  in  us,  with  us,  and 
around  us.  The  aim  of  a  man's  life  in  the 

265 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

world,  as  it  would  seem,  is  to  be  perfectly  a 
man,  and  his  end  is  to  fulfill  himself;  as  part 
of  this  fulfillment  of  himself,  he  provides  for 
the  continuance  of  his  life  in  other  lives,  and 
transmitting  his  character  and  influence,  he 
enriches  other  lives  because  of  what  he  is. 
The  purpose  of  seeing  is  that  we  may  see 
more,  and  the  eye  is  ever  striving  to  increase 
its  power;  the  health  of  the  eye  is  growth. 
The  purpose  of  life  is  more  life,  individual  in 
the  measure  that  it  lies  within  a  man's  power 
to  develop  it,  but  cosmic  in  its  sources  and 
its  influence. 

As  the  harmony  which  a  work  of  art  pre- 
sents finds  a  place  in  that  harmony  of  ex- 
perience and  outward-reaching  desire  which 
constitutes  our  personality,  art  becomes  for 
us  an  entrance  into  more  life.  In  the  large, 
art  is  a  means  of  development.  But  as  any 
work  embraces  diverse  elements  and  is  capa- 
ble of  a  various  appeal,  it  may  be  asked  in 
what  sense  the  appreciation  of  art  is  related 
to  education  and  culture.  Before  we  can 
answer  the  question  intelligently,  we  must 
know  what  we  mean  by  our  terms.  By  many 

266 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

people  education  is  regarded  as  they  regard 
any  material  possession,  to  be  classed  with 
fashionable  clothes,  a  fine  house,  a  carriage 
and  pair,  or  touring-car,  or  steam  yacht,  as 
the  credential  and  card  of  entree  to  what 
is  called  good  society.  Culture  is  a  kind  of 
ornamental  furniture,  maintained  to  impress 
visitors.  Of  course  we  ourselves  do  not  think 
so,  but  we  know  people  who  do.  Nor  do 
we  believe  —  as  some  believe  —  that  edu- 
cation is  simply  a  means  of  gaining  a  more 
considerable  livelihood.  It  is  pathetic  to  see 
young  men  in  college  struggling  in  desper- 
rate,  uncomplaining  sacrifice  to  obtain  an 
education,  and  all  the  while  mistaking  the 
end  of  their  effort.  Not  all  the  deeds  of 
daring  in  a  university  course  are  enacted  on 
the  athletic  field ;  the  men  I  am  thinking 
of  do  not  have  their  pictures  published  in 
the  newspapers,  —  the  unrecorded  heroisms 
of  college  life  are  very  moving  to  those  who 
know.  But  the  tragedy  I  have  in  mind  is 
this  —  for  tragedy  consists  not  in  sacrifice 
itself  but  in  needless  and  futile  sacrifice  — 
that  some  of  these  young  men  suppose  there 

267 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

is  a  magic  virtue  in  education  for  its  own 
sake,  that  it  is  the  open-sesame  to  all  the 
wealth  and  beauty  of  life.  With  insufficient 
ability  to  start  with,  they  are  preparing  to 
be  unfit  professional  men,  when  they  might 
be  excellent  artisans.  The  knowledge  of 
books  is  in  no  sense  the  whole  story  nor  the 
only  means  of  education.  In  devotion  to 
some  craft  or  in  the  intelligent  conduct  of 
some  business  they  might  find  the  true  edu- 
cation, which  is  the  conscious  discipline  of 
one's  powers.  The  man  who  can  do  things, 
whether  with  his  hands  or  with  his  brain, 
provided  intelligence  govern  the  exercise  of 
hand  and  brain,  and  who  finds  happiness 
in  his  work  because  it  is  the  expression  of 
himself,  is  an  educated  man.  The  end  of 
education  is  the  building  of  personality,  the 
making  of  human  power,  and  its  fruit  is 
wisdom. 

Wisdom,  however,  does  not  consist  in  the 
most  extensive  knowledge  of  facts.  Often- 
times information  overweights  a  man  and 
snufFs  out  what  personal  force  there  might 
otherwise  have  been.  On  the  futility  of  mere 

268 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

learning  there  is  abundant  testimony.  Walt 
Whitman,  as  we  might  expect  from  his  pas- 
sion for  the  vital  and  the  human,  has  said : 
"  You  must  not  know  too  much  and  be  too 
precise  and  scientific  about  birds  and  trees 
and  flowers  and  watercraft.  A  certain  free 
margin,  perhaps  ignorance,  credulity,  helps 
your  enjoyment  of  these  things  and  of  the 
sentiment  of  feather'd,  wooded,  river  or  ma- 
rine nature  generally.  I  repeat  it — don't  want 
to  know  too  exactly  or  the  reasons  why." 
Even  Ruskin,  whose  learning  was  extensive 
and  various,  bears  witness  to  the  same  effect. 
He  notes  "  the  diminution  which  my  know- 
ledge of  the  Alps  had  made  in  my  impression 
of  them,  and  the  way  in  which  investigation 
of  strata  and  structure  reduces  all  mountain 
sublimity  to  mere  debris  and  wall-building." 
In  the  same  spirit  he  planned  an  essay  on  the 
Uses  of  Ignorance.  From  the  midst  of  his 
labors  in  Venice  he  wrote :  "  I  am  sure  that 
people  who  work  out  subjects  thoroughly  are 
disagreeable  wretches.  One  only  feels  as  one 
should  when  one  does  n't  know  much  about 
the  matter."  In  other  words,  we  are  not  to 
269 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

let  our  knowledge  come  between  us  and  our 
power  to  feel.  In  thus  seeming  to  assail  edu- 
cation I  am  not  seeking  to  subvert  or  destroy ; 
I  want  simply  to  adjust  the  emphasis.  The 
really  wise  man  is  he  who  knows  how  to 
make  life  yield  him  its  utmost  of  true  satis- 
faction and  furnish  him  the  largest  scope  for 
the  use  of  his  powers  and  the  expression  of 
himself.  In  this  sense  a  newsboy  in  the  streets 
may  be  wiser  than  a  university  professor,  in 
that  one  may  be  the  master  of  his  life  and  the 
other  may  be  the  servant  of  his  information. 
Education  should  have  for  its  end  the  train- 
ing of  capacities  and  powers,  the  discipline 
and  control  of  the  intelligence,  the  quicken- 
ing of  the  sympathies,  the  development  of 
the  ability  to  live.  No  man  is  superior  to  his 
fellows  because  of  the  fact  of  his  education. 
His  education  profits  him  only  in  so  far  as  it 
makes  him  more  of  a  man,  more  responsive 
because  his  own  emotions  have  been  more 
deeply  stirred,  more  tolerant  because  his  wider 
range  has  revealed  more  that  is  good,  more 
generous  to  give  of  his  own  life  and  service 
because  he  has  more  generously  received.  It 

270 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

is  not  what  we  know  nor  what  we  have  that 
marks  our  worth,  but  what  we  are.  No  man, 
however  fortunate  and  well-circumstanced 
he  may  be,  can  afford  to  thank  God  that  he 
is  not  as  other  men  are.  In  so  far  as  his  edu- 
cation tends  to  withdraw  him  from  life  and 
from  contact  with  his  fellows  of  whatever 
station,  in  so  far  as  it  fosters  in  him  the  con- 
sciousness of  class,  so  far  it  is  an  evil.  Educa- 
tion should  lead  us  not  to  judge  lives  different 
from  our  own,  but  to  try  to  understand  and 
to  appreciate.  The  educated  man,  above  all 
others,  should  thank  God  that  there  are  di- 
versity of  gifts  and  so  many  kinds  of  good. 
Art  is  a  means  of  culture,  but  art  rightly 
understood  and  received.  Art  does  not  aim 
to  teach.  It  may  teach  incidentally,  tangen- 
tially  to  its  circle,  but  instruction,  either 
intellectual  or  ethical,  is  not  its  purpose.  It 
fulfills  itself  in  the  spirit  of  the  appreciator  as 
it  enables  him  in  its  presence  to  become  some- 
thing that  otherwise  he  had  not  been.  It  is 
not  enough  to  be  told  things ;  we  must  make 
trial  of  them  and  live  them  out  in  our  own 
experience  before  they  become  true  for  us. 

271 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

As  appreciation  is  not  knowledge  but  feeling, 
so  we  must  live  our  art.  It  is  well  to  have 
near  us  some  work  that  we  want  to  be  like. 
We  get  its  fullest  message  only  as  we  identify 
ourselves  with  it.  If  we  are  willing  to  be 
thought  ignorant  and  to  live  our  lives  as 
seems  good  to  us,  I  believe  it  is  better  to  go 
the  whole  way  with  a  few  things  that  can 
minister  to  us  abundantly  and  so  come  to  the 
end  of  them,  than  to  touch  in  superficial  con- 
tact a  great  many  lesser  works.  The  lesser 
works  have  their  place;  and  so  far  as  they  can 
carry  us  beyond  the  point  where  we  are,  they 
can  serve  us.  In  a  hurried  touch-and-go,  how- 
ever, there  is  danger  of  scattering ;  whereas 
true  appreciation  takes  time,  for  it  is  less 
an  act  than  a  whole  attitude  of  mind.  This 
is  an  age  of  handbooks  and  short  cuts.  But 
there  is  no  substitute  for  life.  If  for  one  rea- 
son or  another  the  opportunity  to  realize  art 
in  terms  of  life  is  not  accorded  us,  it  is  better 
to  accept  the  situation  quite  frankly  and  hap- 
pily, and  not  try  to  cheat  ourselves  with  the 
semblance.  But  if  it  is  indeed  the  realitv, 

«f  ' 

then  we  may  be  content  with  the  minutes  of 

272 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

experience,  though  we  are  denied  the  hours 
or  the  years.  "  The  messages  of  great  poems,'* 
says  Whitman,  "to  each  man  and  woman  are, 
Come  to  us  on  equal  terms ;  only  then  can 
you  understand  us."  The  power  of  response 
must  be  in  us,  and  that  power  is  the  fruit  of 
experience.  The  only  mystery  of  art  is  the 
mystery  of  all  life  itself.  In  nature  the  artist 
finds  the  manifestation  of  a  larger  self  toward 
which  he  aspires,  and  this  is  what  his  work 
expresses.  Alone  with  his  spirit,  he  cries  to 
us  for  that  intimate  mystic  companionship 
which  is  appreciation,  and  our  response  gives 
back  the  echo  of  his  cry.  He  reaches  out 
across  the  distance  to  touch  other  and  kin- 
dred spirits  and  draw  them  to  himself.  Says 
the  poet,  — 

"  Thou  reader  throbbest  life  and  pride  and  love 

the  same  as  I, 
Therefore  for  thee  the  following  chants." 

We  appreciate  the  artist's  work  as  in  it  we 
live  again  and  doubly. 

Thus  art  links  itself  with  life.    The  mes- 
sage of  art  to  the  individual  defines  itself 

273 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

according  to  his  individual  needs.  Life  rises 
with  each  man,  to  him  a  new  opportunity 
and  a  new  destiny.  We  create  our  own  world  ; 
and  life  means  to  us  what  we  are  in  our- 
selves. In  art  we  are  seeking  to  find  our- 
selves expressed  more  fully.  The  works  that 
we  care  for,  if  we  consider  it  a  moment,  are 
the  works  we  understand ;  and  we  under- 
stand them  because  they  phrase  for  us  our 
own  experience.  Life  and  the  truth  of  life 
are  relative.  Truth  is  not  in  the  object  but 
in  our  relation  to  it.  What  is  true  for  me  may 
or  may  not  be  true  for  another.  This  much 
is  true  for  me,  namely,  whatever  tallies  with 
my  experience  and  reveals  to  me  more  of  the 
underlying  purpose  of  the  universe.  We  are 
all,  each  in  his  own  way,  seeking  the  mean- 
ing of  life  ;  and  that  meaning  is  special  and 
personal  to  the  individual,  each  man  de- 
ciding for  himself.  By  selection  here,  by  re- 
jection there,  we  are  trying  to  work  toward 
harmony.  The  details  of  life  become  in- 
creasingly complex  with  the  years,  but  liv- 
ing grows  simpler  because  we  gradually  fix 
a  selecting  and  unifying  principle.  When 

274 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

we  have  truly  found  ourselves,  we  come  to 
feel  that  the  external  incidents  do  not  sig- 
nify ;  which  chance  happens,  whether  this 
or  that,  is  indifferent.  It  is  the  spirit  in  which 
the  life  is  lived  that  determines  its  quality 
and  value.  The  perception  of  purpose  in  the 
parts  brings  them  into  order  and  gives  them 
meaning.  A  man's  life  is  an  expanding  cir- 
cle, the  circumference  of  which  is  drawn 
around  an  order  or  interplay  and  adjustment 
of  part  with  part.  Whatever  lies  without 
the  circle  does  not  pertain  to  the  individual 
—  as  yet.  So  soon  as  any  experience  reveals 
its  meaning  to  us  and  we  feel  that  it  takes 
its  place  in  our  life,  then  it  belongs  to  us. 
Whatever  serves  to  bring  details,  before  scat- 
tering and  unrelated,  into  order,  is  for  that 
moment  true.  Art  has  a  message  for  us  as 
it  tallies  with  what  we  already  know  about 
life ;  and,  quickening  our  perceptions,  dis- 
closing depths  of  feeling,  it  carries  us  into 
new  ranges  of  experience. 

In  this  attitude  toward  life  lies  the  justice 
of  the  personal  estimate.  The  individual  is 
finally  his  own  authority.  To  find  truth 

275 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

we  return  upon  our  own  consciousness,  and 
we  seek  thus  to  define  our  "  original  rela- 
tion "  to  the  universal  order.  So  as  one 
stands  before  the  works  of  the  Italian  paint- 
ers and  sculptors,  for  example,  in  the  en- 
deavor rightly  to  appreciate  what  they  have 
achieved,  one  may  ask :  How  much  of  life 
has  this  artist  to  express  to  me,  of  life  as  I 
know  it  or  can  know  it  ?  Has  the  painter 
through  these  forms,  however  crude  or  how- 
ever accomplished,  uttered  what  he  gen- 
uinely and  for  himself  thought  and  felt  ? 
The  measure  of  these  pictures  for  me  is  the 
degree  of  reality,  of  vital  feeling,  which  they 
transmit.  Whether  it  be  spring  or  divine 
maternity  or  the  beauty  of  a  pagan  idea,  which 
Botticelli  renders,  the  same  power  is  there, 
the  same  sense  of  gracious  life.  Whether 
it  be  Credi's  naive  womanhood,  or  Titian's 
abounding,  glorious  women  and  calm  and 
forceful  men,  or  Delia  Robbia's  joyous  chil- 
dren and  Donatello's  sprites,  the  same  great 
meaning  is  expressed,  the  same  appreciation 
of  the  goodness  and  beauty  of  all  life.  This 
beauty  is  for  me,  here,  to-day.  In  the  experi- 

276 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

ence  of  a  man  who  thinks  and  feels,  there  is 
a  time  when  his  imagination  turns  toward 
the  past.  At  the  moment,  as  the  world  closes 
in  about  him,  his  spirit,  dulled  by  the  at- 
trition of  daily  use  and  wont,  is  unable  to 
discern  the  beauty  and  significance  of  the 
present  life  around  him.  For  a  time  his  im- 
agination finds  abundant  nourishment  in  the 
mighty  past.  Many  spirits  are  content  there 
to  remain.  But  life  is  of  the  present.  To  live 
greatly  is  to  live  now,  inspired  by  the  past, 
corrected  and  encouraged  by  it,  impelled  by 
"  forward-looking  thoughts  "  and  providing 
for  the  future,  but  living  in  to-day.  Life 
is  neither  remembrance  nor  anticipation, 
neither  regret  nor  deferment,  but  present 
realization.  Often  one  feels  in  a  gallery  that 
the  people  are  more  significant  than  the  pic- 
tures. Two  lovers  furtively  holding  hands 
and  stopping  before  a  canvas  to  press  closer 
together,  shoulder  to  shoulder  ;  a  young 
girl  erect  and  firm,  conscious  of  her  young 
womanhood  and  rejoicing  in  it,  radiating 
youth  and  life ;  an  old  man,  whose  years  are 
behind  him  yet  whose  interest  reveals  his 

277 


THE  GATE  OF  APPRECIATION 

eager  welcome  of  new  experience,  uncon- 
sciously rebuking  the  jaded  and  indifferent : 
here  is  reality.  Before  it  the  pictures  seem 
to  recede  and  become  dimmed.  Our  appre- 
ciation of  these  things  makes  the  significance 
of  it  all.  Only  in  so  far  as  art  can  commu- 
nicate this  sensation,  this  same  impression 
of  the  beauty  and  present  reality  of  life,  has 
it  a  meaning  for  us.  The  painter  must  have 
registered  his  appreciation  of  immediate 
reality  and  must  impart  that  to  us  until  it  be- 
comes, heightened  and  intensified,  our  own. 
The  secret  of  successful  living  lies  in  com- 
pelling the  details  of  our  surroundings  to 
our  own  ends.  Michelangelo  lived  his  life  ; 
Leonardo  lived  his  ;  neither  could  be  the 
other.  A  man  must  paint  the  life  that  he 
knows,  the  experience  into  which  he  enters. 
So  we  must  live  our  lives  immediately  and 
newly.  We  have  penetrated  the  ultimate 
mystery  of  art  when  we  realize  the  insepa- 
rable oneness  of  art  with  life. 

Art  is  a  call  to  fuller  living.  Its  real  ser- 
vice is  to  increase  our  capacity  for  experience. 
The  pictures,  the  music,  the  books,  which 

278 


THE  PERSONAL  ESTIMATE 

profit  us  are  those  which,  when  we  have  done 
with  them,  make  us  feel  that  we  have  lived 
by  just  so  much.  Often  we  purchase  experi- 
ence with  enthusiasm ;  we  become  wise  at  the 
expense  of  our  power  to  enjoy.  What  we  need 
in  relation  to  art  is  not  more  knowledge  but 
greater  capability  of  feeling,  not  the  acquisi- 
tion of  more  facts  but  the  increased  power  to 
interpret  facts  and  to  apply  them  to  life.  In 
appreciation  it  is  not  what  we  know  about  a 
work  of  art,  it  is  not  even  what  we  actually  see 
before  us,  that  constitutes  its  significance,  but 
what  in  its  presence  we  are  able  to  feel.  The 
paradox  that  nature  imitates  art  has  in  it  this 
much  of  truth,  that  art  is  the  revelation  of 
the  possibilities  of  life,  and  we  try  to  make 
these  possibilities  actual  in  our  own  experi- 
ence. Art  is  not  an  escape  from  life  and  a 
refuge;  it  is  a  challenge  and  reenforcement. 
Its  action  is  not  to  make  us  less  conscious  but 
more ;  in  it  we  are  not  to  lose  ourselves  but 
to  find  ourselves  more  truly  and  more  fully. 
Its  effect  is  to  help  us  to  a  larger  and  juster 
appreciation  of  the  beauty  and  worth  of  na- 
ture and  of  life. 

279 


Art  is  within  the  range  of  every  man  who 
holds  himself  open  to  its  appeal.  But  art  is 
not  the  final  thing.  It  is  a  means  to  an  end ; 
its  end  is  personality.  There  are  exalted  mo- 
ments in  the  experience  of  us  all  which  we 
feel  to  be  finer  than  any  art.  Then  we  do  not 
need  to  turn  to  painting,  music,  literature,  for 
our  satisfaction.  We  are  living.  Art  is  aid  and 
inspiration,  but  its  fulfillment  and  end  is  life. 

"We  live,"  says  Wordsworth,  "by  admi- 
ration, hope,  and  love."  Admiration  is  won- 
der and  worship,  a  sense  of  the  mystery  and 
the  beauty  of  life  as  we  know  it  now,  and 
thankfulness  for  it,  and  joy.  Hope  is  the 
vision  of  things  to  be.  And  love  is  the  su- 
preme enfolding  unity  that  makes  all  one. 
Art  is  life  at  its  best,  but  life  is  the  greatest 
of  the  arts,  —  life  harmonious,  deep  in  feel- 
ing, big  in  sympathy,  the  life  that  is  appre- 
ciation, responsiveness,  and  love. 


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U   .   S   •    A 


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